The Hardest Thing
by K Pierre
Summary: Freedom comes at a cost.
1. TA is in a relationship with AR

**Author's Notes**: Special thanks to Eprime for the beta. Possible spoilers throughout; takes place in the continuum after "Escape and Love" and "Prayer in the Abyss."

**Disclaimer**: These characters belong to Yamane Ayano, not me.

**"The Hardest Thing"**

**Chapter One – Takaba Akihito is in a relationship with Asami Ryuichi. **

"So what possessed you to open clubs?" Akihito wondered, generally interested as Asami poured more sake into his glass. "I mean, you're a crime lord. Isn't sitting behind a desk and cackling at all hours of the day your job, not running entertainment businesses for the rich and famous and drunk?"

Asami offered an indulgent chuckle, his fingers lingering upon Akihito's wrist, tugging the black wristlet down to expose the bare skin. "My mother liked to dance. It was a passion of hers, and even though she wasn't formally trained, she enjoyed it very, very much."

Akihito kept Asami's softened gaze, enjoying the display of emotions upon the usually unreadable man. These moments, fleeting but cherished, were coming more frequently and lasting longer. The mask of the unrelenting crime lord slipped and allowed Akihito to see right into Asami's soul. A longing twinge seized his heart, and Akihito feared how easily he became lost in Asami's eyes, in Asami's world. Sure the whatever high-thread count his new suit—Asami's congratulatory gift—felt wonderfully soft against his skin as did the neon green socks Asami offered as a gag, but it didn't compare to the gentle caresses of Asami's expert fingers that rose little bumps upon his tingling skin or the soft smile—not even a smirk—that found Asami's pale lips.

He wanted more of these nights, sitting cross-legged in a private room at one of the low-lit traditional restaurants of Shinjuku. He wanted more nights at home, awaking in the strong arms of his lover. He wanted more baths and showers and chocolates sent to his office just because, but more importantly…

"I wish you could have been there," Akihito whispered, glancing at the crystal trophy on the table between them. "When I was giving my speech, I thought of you. I wanted to thank you for all your support."

Asami laughed, though this time a hint of melancholy whispered into it. "I'm sure your colleagues would have wanted a comment."

"Probably a little more than that," Akihito conceded with a resigned sigh, "but I would have told them you're my target. Reporters are very territorial."

Asami lifted Akihito's hand and pressed his plush lips against the naked wrist. "I can sympathize, but it is in your benefit that we are not seen together."

"My benefit?" Akihito scoffed but made no motions to reclaim his hand. "So you're telling me I sneak into the back of Sion every Sunday, so your clients don't see a well-known and _renowned_—" He motioned toward his award. "—photojournalist, and that has nothing to do with you and your business."

Asami's warm tongue sent delicious shivers down Akihito's spine with one glide of soft muscle. "Perhaps it is best for all parties involved that our worlds do not collide outside of the condo, but do you really think they would have given you an award if they knew with whom you associate?"

Akihito looked away then, sadness creeping into his gut. The miserable words slipped through his clenched lips. "How long do you think this will last?"

Asami's warm fingers and lips left his wrist bereft, and those golden eyes hardened again, became guarded. Akihito wanted to kick himself—how could he have said that?—but now that it was out there, he sighed and found comfort in the sake. "Y—You're right, y'know. My colleagues wouldn't accept that my lover is a crime lord—" When Asami's eyes darkened to a lovely shade of chocolate, Akihito amended, "—_alleged _crime lord. Neither would my editors. They'd think my emotions would compromise my work, and I'm not sure they're wrong.

"And many of the people whom I seek frequent your clubs, especially Sion. If your lover was recognized as a renowned photojournalist, your clients would think you were feeding me tips." He looked up at Asami, and the unreadable expression stabbed him deeply. He sighed and downed his sake, stricken by the truth he'd whisper a moment later, "We have an expiration date, don't we?"

Akihito refused to meet Asami's eyes, afraid of what he'd see, when a painfully tight hand clutched his cheek and lifted his face. He hardly had a chance to breathe before the forceful lips took his own, demanding a fervent response. Akihito submitted to the aggressiveness almost instantly, slowly widening his legs and flattening his body upon the pillow. Asami lay between his open thighs, the man's hard erection already pressing against his groin, and sensual moans and cries of pleasure swept away the sharp, inevitable agony.

* * *

Dracaena was alive with party-seeking attendees, youthful but legal men and women pumping to the music in a public display of noise, flesh, and strobe lights. Akihito couldn't help getting into the rhythm, flanked by Takato and Kou. The blinding lights and hypnotizing music drew people to the dance floor, and his subconscious attraction drew others to him. His tight T-shirt and ass-hugging jeans worked better than a snake-charmer, and he ended up turning away men and women alike. He almost wished he'd have a ring on, like Takato, so he wouldn't get so many compliments.

When the current song blended into a new, flashier one, the three vacated the dance floor, tired, sweaty, and panting. They quickly found a table and collapsed into the seats, though they still had to raise their voices to be heard.

"You couldn't have gotten us a private room?" Kou demanded, attempting and failing to get a server's attention. "You are dating the owner, aren't you?"

Akihito shrugged, glancing about the room for any men he'd missed. Nope. Not one of the guards he recognized. Good. "I didn't want to ask Ryuichi."

"Trouble in paradise?" Takato asked. "Don't tell me he asked you to change his adult diapers."

"I wouldn't say that to his face," Akihito snorted before he sighed, the sound devoured by the music.

Kou snapped at the passing waitress, who couldn't be bother to even sneer. "Come on! I've got the boss's boyfriend here."

"Relationships are hard," Takato shook his head at Kou, then fixed Akihito with a sympathetic expression. "You know since our daughter was born, it's been tough for Miko and I to make-out, let alone actually get on one another. And don't get me started on eating a full meal in peace. Doesn't happen, but y'know, I don't think I could come home and not see her. Just her smile when she sees me, makes me love her more every day."

Every day Asami came to him, and Akihito couldn't deny that an unconscious smile always found his face, even when Asami had a hard day at work. Of course, he ignored the petulant voice in his mind that called him the wife and instead, collapsed against the table, his forehead on his arms.

"I—I think…I think I fucked it up."

"Seriously? You idiot!" Kou slapped him up the back of the head. "You had to go and screw up this one, didn't you? The guy with more money than the prime minister, the guy who can get us into all the hottest clubs in Tokyo, _he_ you fuck over."

"I didn't fuck anyone over." Akihito winced, wishing he had a beer to down. "I just…I just know it can't work like this forever."

"Why not?"

Akihito gave a sideways glance to Takato, absorbing the man's wide eyes and hopeful gaze. "Wha?"

Takato shrugged and watched the packed dance floor. "Why can't it work like this forever? Your parents like him. Kou and I don't have a problem with him, and last time I checked, you love him." Those eyes flicked back, serious and light. "You _do_ love him, right?"

"Yeah. Of course," Akihito shocked himself by the instantaneous answer.

"Then does the rest matter?"

Akihito pushed his seat back then, watching as yet another waitress walked by without noticing Kou's signals, and he told them he'd grab the drinks from the bar. As he walked, the once-distracting music faded away into his own thoughts as Takato's words swirled in his mind. Did the rest matter? His job, his life, his principles—they meant something. He couldn't just throw all that away, no matter how much he loved Ryuichi. And Ryuichi would never throw away his life as a criminal mastermind. He'd worked too hard to become the undisputed Lord of Tokyo. He wouldn't give that up to live a meager life on a photojournalist's salary.

Then what was the answer? To break up? Go their separate ways now before either one of them fell too deep? As soon as he thought that, Akihito banished it from his mind. He'd never forget the raw emotion Asami allowed him to see on that cruise ship when Yuri had shot him, and Asami's earlier words rang true. They'd descend together. There was no escape for him, and he'd be damned if he'd ever let Asami go.

Well, actually, it was the other way around, but still…

"Three beers," Akihito ordered as he finally made to the bar and slammed down a few bills. A stifled snort sounded from the side, and he looked at the sinister-looking man sitting on a stool with dark slacks and a black top. He had a ferret type of goatee and slicked back hair like a used car salesman. He looked dangerous but almost in a comical way. He definitely wasn't one of Asami's men.

"You got a problem, man?"

The man narrowed his eyes and perched his bottle upon his lips. "I didn't think Asami-san ever let his pet off the leash. You should be careful in whose litterbox you shit, Kitty."

The beer bottles clanged together when the bartender placed them upon the metal top. "Henchmen should pick up the poo where it lays, bastard. Oh," and the words flew from his mouth with little thought, "and it's the other way around. No one leashes _me_. Got it?"

Akihito turned from the man then, taking the bottles in a triangle formation back to the table, so he never saw the man's eyes follow him back to the table or the whispered reply, "Got it, Kitty."

* * *

The call came just before Suoh drove the town car into the condo's disembarking area, and Asami debated about answering it at all. He knew Akihito had been out at Dracaena all night and though he had yet to speak with his detail, the boy most likely had been hit on endlessly. By now, he probably wanted nothing more than to lie in Asami's arms or perhaps even reaffirm their relationship after their discussion at the restaurant a few days prior. Nothing reinforced to whom Akihito belonged better than lowlife club bangers who offered nothing more to the boy than a dirty smile and a cheesy pick-up line. He was glad he texted those free tickets to Kou.

But now, his enjoyment would have to wait. Kuroda wasn't one to jump at shadows, and the call proved necessary. Anger burned in his eyes, and his hand scrunched his phone until it shook.

"You were supposed to handle this…I don't want excuses. When is he scheduled to leave?" He scowled and stepped out of the car when Suoh opened the door. He motioned for Suoh to join him upstairs as he listened to the familiar voice and finally clipped, "Meet me at Sion tomorrow with all the paperwork. I want to see the information for myself, not listen to your inadequacies over the phone."

He hit off his phone as he exited the elevator and opened the front door. Like a ruffled kitten, Akihito shot up from the couch, eyes wide to rid himself of sleep, his hair disheveled and needing petting. Too bad Asami wouldn't be able to do it until later.

As he toed off his shoes, Asami heard the tentative whisper, "You're late."

"Busy day."

"I made you dinner."

Asami offered it not even a glance before heading toward the hallway. "Thank you."

After almost two years together, Asami knew his adorable kitten could read him like the sharp reporter he was quickly becoming, and he wouldn't, couldn't show Akihito his fear.

After a quick shower, he was mildly surprised not to see Akihito curled up in their bed, waiting for him to come and rub his stomach. Instead, he found Akihito in the dining room with Suoh, pouring his security head and him some tea.

Asami's threaded his fingers through Akihito's hair and tugged the boy's head up to kiss him thoroughly and deeply until Akihito's cheeks flushed, and Asami wished he could have brought the pleasurable sensations to fruition. "Why don't you lie down, and I'll be in shortly."

"All right," Akihito relented, apparently too tired to fight.

Asami sat down once Akihito padded away and took a sip of the tea. He almost spat it out immediately—God, the boy made horrible tea—but soft arms wrapped about his neck and warm lips found his cheek. "Are—Are we okay?"

The hesitation was new and again, unexpected, but welcome. He rewarded the boy's newly found courage—at least for their relationship—with a caress upon his cheek. "Yes. I just have one thing to wrap up with Suoh, and then I will be in to reaffirm our relationship."

"Good." The arms disappeared. "I'll update my Facebook status."

Asami watched the boy leave, Akihito's tanktop and tight briefs an alluring sight, and he turned to Suoh with an unrelenting stare. "We need to discuss Akihito's security protocols. Tsukino Kiyoshi was released from prison today."

When Asami finally graced the bedroom, Akihito was asleep, his youth face calm and angelic in the light of the hallway. Asami wished to bring him alive, to see the fire burn within those stormy eyes, but fear was a terrific motivator. Instead, he slipped under the covers and wrapped his arms around the slender waist, bringing the warmth against him. A tired but firm hand found his and knotted their fingers together before sleep once more claimed its owner. Asami wanted to follow Akihito, but sleep eluded him for quite some time. Instead, he chose to keep silent vigil, the intoxicating scent of fixer, soap, and Akihito's own sweet scent a comfort all its own.

* * *

"I was looking forward to meeting this boyfriend you whine about." Mitarai leaned his elbow upon the rooftop and glanced down at the street almost ten stories below. "He must be hideous if he can't find someone better than you."

Akihito kept adjusting his lens until he obtained a clean shot of the warehouse door—Watanabe Wineries—his voice monotone and distracted. "I'm actually a freak in the bed, so that keeps him coming around."

"Really?" The stinging slap to his ass caught Akihito off guard, as well as the persistent hand that roamed and squeezed the globe of his ass. "I'd like to see that first hand."

Akihito glanced back at Mitarai's hand and then at Mitarai's heated face. "First, I thought you were straight, and second, my _lover_ is very possessive. You should take your hand off my ass unless you _want_ to lose it."

"First, I like to try new things, and second, if I'm not getting any ass, then I'm not comfortable with this cut." He slapped Akihito's ass once more for good measure before looking down at the target's base of operations, an old warehouse by the marina.

"Sixty-forty is more than generous since I was the one who found the lead and discovered where our target conducts business. You pretty much jumped on board when the editor said he thought it was too dangerous for one person."

"See? So you need me. Fifty-fifty."

"I already stole your SD card, so I'm not worried. Seventy-thirty."

Mitarai quickly flipped his camera over and struggled with the little slit where the card entered. His voice smoothed when he found the card in place. "Y'know, I deserved that award. Even the editor said my work with the Ito mob was more impressive than your little bust on Tsukino."

"He probably also said your head sometimes doesn't fit through his door, and that's why we have weekly meetings in the bullpen."

Mitarai huffed and leaned his elbows upon the rooftop, looking away. "My bust took down thirty men for racketeering. What did your bust lead to? The take down of Tsukino and perhaps four of his highest generals and only on mail fraud and tax evasion."

Akihito shrugged and lowered his camera. "Beggars can't be choosers, Mitarai-san. Tsukino and his men are murderers and human traffickers. I got them on something. The D.A. is working on getting them for the rest of the charges."

"Or he was, until a judge threw out the case on Tsukino last night. Not enough evidence."

Icy fear sliced through Akihito's gut, and he sat up straight, eyes widened. "W—What? Are you joking?"

Mitarai shrugged and lifted his camera, snapping a few shots of the massive crates being carried out and onto an 18-wheeler. A few holes were punched on the side of the crates, and a tiny finger poked out, too fast for Mitarai or Akihito to catch. "Oh, look. Here's the delivery. Eighty-twenty."

Shock dulled Akihito's senses, and he tugged his phone out of his pocket. Upon the opposite end of the roof, Akihito paced and hit the number for the D.A.'s office, the gravel crunching under his sneakers. How could this have happened? He provided more than enough evidence to put Tsukino away for a long time, enough time for the D.A. to find the man's victims.

Granted, he never wanted to talk to Kuroda, the guy knowing about his relationship with Asami and the nature of it, but he worked for Asami. Kuroda wouldn't have allowed Tsukino back on the streets…unless he wanted Tsukino to kill Akihito. But why? Who was Kuroda to want him dead?

Trying the number again, he missed that Mitarai had stopped taking pictures and was looking through Akihito's wallet.

* * *

Asami had redecorated since the last time he'd allowed Kuroda Shinji inside his personal office at the Sion Group's corporate offices. They usually met in a nondescript location or Asami's own condo. A suspected crime lord and the most aggressive DA in all of Japan could not be seen together unless Asami was a suspect, which was not a desirable situation for either of them.

Today was another situation all together, and Kuroda looked away when Asami's eyes hardened at the ample papers he read. "How could you let this happen?"

Kuroda cocked his head to the side, unaffected by the intense chill in Asami's voice as he dissected the newest addition to Asami's wall art. It was a beautiful picture of Shinjuku in the late evening, motion blur photography accenting the vehicles on the street. "That's new." He nodded with tasteful approval. "Did you acquire it through Mainchi Auction?"

Asami looked up to see the picture Kuroda studied before refocusing his attention to the literature. "No. That's Akihito's. Most of the pictures lining the hallways are his."

Kuroda scrunched his nose and turned away from the picture. "Hm. I would have gone with a more talented artist, but if you feel his works are worthy enough to grace your offices, who am I to disagree?"

Asami stood now, slamming the stack of papers onto the desk. "I indulge you a great deal, Shinji. Do not take my generosity for granted."

"Of course not, Asami-sama. Forgive me." Kuroda bowed instantly, though he made sure to always keep eye contact with his superior.

Asami waited, Kuroda knew, for a few moments longer than necessary to make his point, though the point was made long ago. And Kuroda also knew that Asami gave him a longer leeway than most of his men, save the exception of his head of security and chief operating officer. As DA, though, he, too, had more to lose than those men combined, and Asami-sama recognized that as well.

"Get up, Shinji. You have much to answer for." The barely contained rage was unnerving. Kuroda had only seen it a handful of times before, the most recent during the situation in Hong Kong. "You should have stopped this."

"I am a district attorney, Asami-sama. I'm not a judge. If you wanted Tsukino to have a life sentence, then next time pay the judge more than he will."

"I employ you to make sure things like this don't happen. I pay you get your job done. Do not make me rethink your place in my organization."

Kuroda couldn't ignore the metaphorical slap that stung his face and burned his heart, and no one but the man before him could possibly see his shock. "You cannot tell me—He cannot…" He cleared his thoughts and forced this mouth to form the words. "Please do not misconceive my uncertainty for petulance, Asami-sama, but Takaba-kun is a photojournalist. Only recently has he found any notoriety, and you do not include him in your organization. Why is he so important to you?"

"His worth is not your concern," Asami chastised and walked about his desk to stare at Shinjuku. "Your concern is with the man who was released today."

"Who Takaba-kun helped to put away and for whose arrest made him the frontrunner of a very prestigious journalistic award."

Asami smirked as he hit the end of the cigarette pack twice and lit the end of one in almost a single, practice motion. "You seem to know a lot about Takaba."

"I know a lot about the people in your life, especially those who files I must doctor in order to acquire a passport." Kuroda resituated his glasses upon the bridge of his nose and glanced at the picture upon the wall once more. The boy had talent, he begrudgingly allowed. "I will speak to the arresting officers once more and see what I can do, but it doesn't look good, Asami-sama."

Kuroda started toward the door before he stopped at Asami's strained beckon. "Shinji…Takaba, his safety is a priority in my life. I hope that makes it a priority in yours."

Shinji read the vulnerability in his boss's eyes, an expression he saw very few times and never about another such as this. He immediately softened his own hardened expression, and he nodded once. "Of course, Ani—"

The office door swung open, smacking Kuroda in the back and flinging him against a nearby chair. The force toppled over the chair, and gunfire exploded in the office.

* * *

"I know it's here somewhere…" Akihito muttered as he emptied his wallet yet again, searching for a particular black card. He always kept in the top flap, back slot, so no one would see it if he had to pull out a credit card or his license.

The goon managing the back door of Club Sion was built like a linebacker and becoming as an impatient as one. He obviously wasn't one of the few men Asami had ever had upon him. "Look, we hire exterminators to get rid of pests. You don't want me to call them now, do you?"

"Can't you call Kirishima Kei?" Akihito finally sighed, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket. "Tell him Takaba Akihito is here to see Asami. He'll let me in."

The man snorted and motioned back to the street with his massive chin. "Get a move on, kid. Asami-sama has better things to do than speak with reporters on a Sunday night."

"I'm not here to talk," Akihito snarled before the guard crossed his arms over his chest and loomed. Akihito threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine! Fine. It's your head when _Ryuichi_ finds out I was here and wasn't allowed in. Don't say I didn't try to save your job."

He left then, the strap of his heavy camera bag cutting into his shoulder, despite the leather jacket Asami had bought him for his birthday. He was looking forward to a ride back to the apartment, but now it looked like he would be making the trek himself. He glanced back at the alley leading to the back of Club Sion one more time before accepting his fate and starting off.

It irked Akihito how his guards never took the initiative. What was their purpose then? They didn't stop the stalker from hurting him—Asami did—and even that goon Sakagaki molested him twice without his guards' interference. Not that he really wanted them to step in all the time—he wanted to live life, not have someone dictate it for him—but he could have used them to step in two minutes ago to let him into Sion.

By the time he made it to Asami's condo, he was exhausted and sweaty, the cool nights of autumn not cool enough for his tastes yet. His camera bag thumped to the floor right beyond the foyer, and he toed off his shoes, kicking them against the wall. Asami would have to deal with leftovers tonight. If his goon would have let him in, then maybe—well, they probably would have eaten at Sion, but still, Akihito mused as he opened the dual doors of the refrigerator and freezer and bent over to look at the Tupperware. Asami would just have to deal with eating stale—

A thin cord wrapped around his throat quicker than Akihito could thwart it, and he heard the fine zip of lines tugging together. The sharp pain was instantaneous, dragging his head up and back to try to alleviate the pressure from around his neck. A gurgled gag broke the silence of night, the lack of oxygen burning his lungs and stinging his eyes.

Warm breath slicked his left ear and cold cheek. "Tsukino Kiyoshi wishes he could be here in person to deliver his gift, but he sends his regards."

Desperation swept his body, fear stabbing his gut, and Akihito's body reacted on instinct, the morning lessons with Suoh finally culminating with an elbow to his attacker's gut. The cord about his neck loosened, and he pivoted, kicking the man back against the counter.

A huge wave of air and relief swelled in Akihito's lungs as he sucked in deep gasps, his body trembling from the rush of emotions and adrenaline.

He rasped, "Can-Can I send the gift back? I don't like it."

Akihito hardly had the chance to recover before he saw a shadow lunge at him, and he ducked and delivered a quick punch to the man's torso. He dove for the nearest weapon—the steak knives upon the counter—but strong arms seized his waist and dragged him to the ground.

"Don't worry, Kitty," the assailant's smooth voice offered relief as one wrist was seized and pain shot to Akihito's shoulder. "My orders aren't to kill you yet. This is just a taste of what is to come."

Akihito laughed breathlessly. Bile burned the back of his throat. "Is that a pun?"

The man, Akihito could see, blinked at the question, and the uncertainty allowed Akihito the moment he needed to reach inside the nearest cabinet and chuck the Comet sink cleaner at the man. The assailant flinched, and Akihito tossed him off. He launched to his feet, grabbing the knife, but when he turned, he never saw the fist but felt its force upon his cheek. He rolled with it, thankfully—or horribly—keeping conscious, but another blow knocked the knife away. He whirled on his back leg and kicked, hitting the man somewhere, but another attack sent Akihito flying over the couch. He slammed hard onto the coffee table before thumping onto the ground.

Groaning, Akihito shook his head and slowly rose to his hands and knees but his left arm gave out, the shoulder screaming in agony. He bit his lower lip as crimson ran from his nose and lips. The figure was now a blurry mass before him, but Akihito could make out the combat boots, cargo pants, and long-sleeved T-shirt.

"Damn, you're good."

In the lights of Shinjuku, Akihito now recognized his attacker as the goateed man from Dracaena. "Tsukino-sama gives a decent benefits package. Medical and dental is second to none. Could get better eye care, but who am I to complain?"

He then lifted to the struggling Akihito by the collar, bringing him up to eye level. "So, Kitty. I was thinking about making you one of those pets who need a wheelie cart to get around. How does that—uck!"

The knee to the groin freed Akihito, and he lunged for the nearest lamp, chucking it at the man. The assailant ducked, and it shattered against Asami's wet bar with a loud reverberation. The man stood, albeit hunched over, and brandished his own shimmering knife.

"You missed, Kitty."

Akihito took a deep breath and a step back. "Are you so sure?"

The door was kicked in a moment later, and the goateed man whirled toward the light—only for his chest to explode with blood.

* * *

The window shattered from the barrage of bullets flying, and Kuroda felt his own pulse in his ears. His heart threatened to thump out of his chest, and as he attempted to hide behind the fallen chair, a hand roughly seized his collar and dragged him to his feet. The cold gun barrel wasn't a new sensation against Kuroda's chin, but it wasn't one he particularly enjoyed.

"Asami-san, Tsukino Kiyoshi sends his most sincere regards. He wishes to have a word with you."

"Only one?" Kuroda asked. "I would have believed he'd at least want a sentence. Perhaps a whole state—ugh!"

Fresh blood ran from a cut along his forehead, but the distraction proved useful as Asami launched himself up behind the desk and fired one shot, hitting the assassin directly in the forehead. Kuroda regained his footing as the assassin collapsed to the floor, dead.

Kuroda heaved a few deep breathes, attempting to reign his wild gasps, and they only steadied when Asami came to side, clasping his shoulder with his unwavering stability.

"Are you all right?"

Kuroda nodded and allowed Asami to take his glasses from his face and clean them with a handkerchief. The door flew open then, and in raced Souh and Kirishima with a few more guards, their guns drawn and ready for a bloodbath.

"Asami-sama, are you all right?"

Asami nodded, and Kuroda savored the warmth he felt when Asami resituated the glasses upon his face himself. "Yes, we're fine, but how the hell did he get in here?"

"Asami-sama…" With blue gloves in place and crouching low, Kirishima tugged a small black card from the man's jacket pocket. Upon the front in elegant white writing were the words, "Personal Guest of Asami Ryuichi."

Kuroda, who had known him the longest, flinched at the fire blazing in Asami's eyes. "Find Akihito. Now!"

* * *

Despite the tight wrapping upon his shoulder, Akihito still grit his teeth at every bump the limo hit on the road. After the assailant fell to Asami's man—Nakahara, Akihito thought his name was—Asami's personal doctor was called, and Akihito was ushered into Asami's room until the condo was cleaned to be poked and prodded and sown back together. He refused to take the painkillers until he saw Asami, and his wish was granted. Fewer than ten minutes passed after his demand before Asami's men flanked him as they escorted him outside and into the limo.

When they arrived at Club Sion, he took a single step outside of the limo before Asami appeared at the doorway, his eyes aflame with myriad emotions. Akihito smiled sheepishly, though his face protested the natural movement with a fine ache. He shrugged and pointed to the guard who denied him entry earlier.

"This is technically all his fault."

Only two strides brought Asami to him, a trembling hand upon his cheek. He ignored the pain as it grew more severe, his attention and breath stolen by the soul-wrenching glare with which Asami pinned him to the car. Clutching the hand holding him, he reached up and touched Asami's face, caressing the rigid muscle.

"It's all right, Ryu. Really. I'm okay."

Usually his touch deflated any tension that had built in Asami, but this time, Asami ducked his head, his incessant lips pressing hard and demanding submission. Akihito allowed him entry, opening his mouth and bleeding of any resistance, enjoying the sensations stirring deep within his chest and groin. He tugged Asami closer by the lapels, not caring about the personal army of voyeurs who secured the immediate area. After all, other than the back door guard, the rest Akihito knew to be Asami's closest advisors—Kirishima, Souh, Nakahara, and a few others.

When Asami began to travel further, Akihito lifted his chin to offer the full column of his neck and hissed when Asami lightly dusted his bruised skin with delicious kisses. He let out a throaty moan when Asami's lips kneaded the skin lower, the spot that made his body come alive. When Asami tugged at his waist band, he fumbled with the limo door and practically fell inside. Asami followed behind him, and Akihito latched onto Asami's neck, tugging him on top of him and fusing their lips together again.

No other words passed between them, their bodies speaking for them.

Upon the roof opposite Club Sion, Mitarai lowered his camera once the limo pulled away. He gazed down at the latest picture he took, of Asami biting Akihito's neck, and picked up his cell phone. After hitting a particular number, he busied himself with putting away his camera before the person picked up.

"Yeah, it's me. They're definitely together, and I've got the evidence. Look, this is pretty big, and I am betraying a colleague. We're going to have renegotiate my fee…"

**To Be Continued…**


	2. TA is in a domestic partnership with AR

**Author's Note:** Special thanks to Eprime for the beta.

"**The Hardest Thing" **

**Chapter Two –Takaba Akihito is in a domestic partnership with Asami Ryuichi**

Akihito knew the truth about his and Asami's relationship, despite what Asami always said. His lover made numerous declarations of ownership and possession, but the truth remained unspoken.

It was Akihito who held Asami in his hand.

That simple thought made him reel time and time again when he dwelled upon it, so Akihito made a point to strike the disturbing yet warming thought from his mind when possible. But there were moments, like now, when the sheet slipped from his own toned body and he climbed upon his lover, that the truth shone brightly between them. The sheer rawness of the transparent look Asami gave him, his eyes open to his soul, Akihito couldn't deny how much the truth spoke louder in their actions than it ever would in their voices, and so he allowed Asami's indulgence. In time, Asami would allow him many things, and perhaps, if he dared to speak them, Asami would allow even more. For now, though, Asami granted him the meager desire to ride on top.

He worked his tongue about Asami's rigid and weeping cock, ruffling the tiny patch of hair above it, and taking it as far as his mouth could. His fingers found Asami's balls easily, massaging them in the spot that made even the most hardened man shiver, and when he was granted such a display, he straddled Asami, a knowing smile curving his abused lips.

"I'm surprised you decided to stay out in this bedroom tonight," Akihito mused as he widened the gap between his own cheeks. "After a close call, you always want me under lock and key."

Asami's eyes softened again, the gold so thick it drowned out the brown, and Akihito let out a wild gasp as Asami thrust up and took him without so much as a blink. Akihito held onto Asami's forearms as the implacable man's fingers dug into his hips, keeping him from straying from the violent thrusts. More bruises would decorate his already black and blue canvass, but these Akihito wouldn't mind. These wouldn't cause him to shudder when looking in the mirror.

A particularly violent thrust lit every nerve ablaze, and Akihito bit his bottom lip to keep the grunt from slipping out. His shoulder ached still, and despite his strong front, that was why Asami held onto him so tightly—to keep the weight off Akihito's arm. Perhaps, at times, it was the simple acts of kindness from a cold man that truly made Akihito fall time and time again in love with Asami.

Then, the bastard had to open his mouth.

"I love when you're wrapped up and writhing, trying so desperately not to be turned on by your own enjoyment of leather and chains," Asami muttered, breathless, that annoying smirk still finding his face. "But tonight, I want you all to myself—wet, tight, and wanton for nothing else but the pleasure only I can give you."

Akihito's cheeks flushed with more heat, and his already hardened cock thickened. Before it slapped Asami's stomach, Asami detached one hand from his hip and slowed his pace, though he didn't lessen the severity of the thrusts.

Akihito gasped, forced to clutch Asami with his good arm when the older man ran a teasing finger up his cock. "There are so many things I can do to you, Akihito. So many delicious things…" The tip of his finger slid over Akihito's slit, forcing him to jerk his hips and his walls to clench. "And I will…all in good time, my Akihito."

"I could…say the same…to you!" Akihito ground back now, riding Asami's cock faster and faster, taking control of their lovemaking, and by the smirk upon Asami's face, Akihito had done exactly what the bastard wanted. Nothing turned on Asami faster than Akihito's stubbornness, just like nothing turned on Akihito faster than Asami's arrogance toward his pleasure.

Akihito came before Asami with a strangled cry, Asami only a few moments later. He collapsed upon Asami's slick and heaving chest, his own wet cheek sticking to the man's skin. As his breath evened, Akihito raised his head just enough to press a kiss to Asami's chest before relaxing, his legs sliding down Asami's, his eyes drooping closed.

It was morning already, he knew by the slither of light through the curtains, and he still had leads to run down before an editor's meeting in the afternoon. But he wasn't willing to let go of the proof of Asami's existence just yet and smiled softly when familiar, warm fingers traced feather-light circles upon his bare and recently dislocated shoulder. A different hand probed the back of his neck, just below the hairline, and skimmed the maimed area about his throat, where the cord had dug into Akihito's skin.

The soft look of desperation and almost—Akihito hesitated to use—_fear_ in Asami's eyes stole Akihito's breath for the second time in as many minutes, and he slithered up Asami's body to meet those lips and devour them for all Asami would allow.

The kiss was searing at first, but then fell into a longing, deep exploration until Akihito's lips were once more red and puffy. When they broke, Asami ruffled his hair in waves, not satisfied until his hazel eyes were completely visible.

"Are you hungry?"

Akihito shrugged, and heat rushed to his already blushing cheeks. "I just ate, so…not really."

Asami caressed his cheekbone with his bent knuckles. "I'm surprised. You're usually ravenous after one of our more productive nights."

Akihito laughed and laid his chin on Asami's chest. "You're always ravenous."

"Hmm…perhaps." With little warning, Akihito found himself on his back, Asami looming over him, his tongue slipped across his bottom lip. "Then maybe I should treat myself to some breakfast."

As his mouth ducked, Akihito entangled his fingers in Asami's thick mop and prevented him from devouring his already flushing cock. "There is nothing more I would enjoy than being the end to your 'coffee and…' but I've leads to follow and clandestine meetings to attend."

Apparently, Asami must have had meetings as well because he allowed Akihito to wiggle from his predatory grasp and head into the bathroom. Akihito turned on the faucet and washed his hands and face in the warm, soothing water before grabbing his toothbrush.

"Shouldn't you take some time off?" Asami called from the bedroom. "Maybe see your parents, stay in Yokohama for a few days."

Akihito poked his head out of the bathroom door, toothbrush hanging out of the corner of his mouth. "We just saw my parents last week, and I can't." He retreated back to the sink. "Do you remember Tsukino Kiyoshi?"

He squished some water around his mouth and spat. When he came up, he jumped at Asami behind him, Asami's eyes meeting his with cold severity. "You received the SAJA award for your investigation of his human trafficking operation."

Akihito nodded. "He sent that hitman last night."

Warm hands settled upon his hips and drew Akihito against him. "And you think it's wise to go after him again?"

"The hitman said he didn't want me dead yet, and this is my job, Ryuichi."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

Akihito stared at Asami in the mirror. In the bright light, he saw the circles under his lover's eyes, processed those emotions that only he was allowed to see. He clutched his lover's hands and dipped his head back against Asami's shoulder. God, even now he smelled delicious—like man and cigarettes and soap from his shower the night before. Engulfed in the scent, Akihito muttered, "You're worried about me?"

The arms tightened about his body, desperately, painfully.

Akihito turned in the embrace, wrapping his slender arms about Asami's neck. "I don't ask you not to go to your super-secret evildoer meetings. Please don't ask me not to follow this through. Tsukino Kiyoshi was my target. I was the one who tipped off the police, and for some reason your best bud at the D.A.'s office couldn't seal the deal. I need to know why and find out what he needs, so he can." He glanced away and muttered through the side of his mouth, "I bet he let the bastard out to kill me."

Asami brushed his fingers along Akihito's collar, along the maimed skin. "Will you entertain the thought of a few of my men accompanying you?"

"I'm not your damned mob wife, Ryuichi, and there are always a few men following me. Don't think I haven't noticed." He scowled. "Though, honestly, it would have been nice if they would have helped me get into your club last night."

A line on concern indented Asami's forehead. "You were at the club, but you weren't allowed in?"

"Yeah. I lost my stupid card somewhere, but I always keep it my wallet. So I have no idea where it could have—anyway, there's no way I'll be able to work with more of your goons hovering over me. It's hard enough losing the few you do during my bigger jobs."

By the almost nonexistent smirk edging on Asami's lips, Akihito knew he would have to triple check his back from now on.

"Look, you live your life, and I live mine. We meet here." To prove his point, he snagged Asami's ass cheeks and ground their groins together. "Don't complicate it with other things."

"Like Hong Kong? Like Russia? Like stalkers and prime ministers and—"

"It wasn't my fault he was having an affair in one of your clubs! You should have better security!"

Asami sighed and whispered against Akihito's lips, "And you need a leash."

"Maybe tonight," Akihito laughed, sexual curiosity and fear mixing to a produce a sheepish smile. "Right now, I have to take a shower and get ready for work."

When he whirled to leave Asami's embrace, Asami's arms tightened again, keeping their groins together. "You can't grind against me and then expect to just leave."

Akihito's eyes blazed. "God, how many times did we do it last night? You'll break a hip if we do again!"

"Is that a challenge?" His smirk grew to meet it.

Akihito rolled his eyes. "Only to you would be. To a sane human being…hmm…"

Akihito's head shot up and his arms tightened about Asami's neck as two fingers shoved between his ass cheeks and began stroking the quivering ring of muscle about his pucker. "Fine…Fine!" He grabbed Asami's wrist and tugged him toward the shower. "But don't prolong it. Just shove it up and get a move-on. I'm late!"

"Then it's a good thing you're not a woman, isn't it?"

Akihito moved to hit him, but Asami seized both of his arms and thrust him against the shower wall, his thick thigh sliding between Akihito's legs.

* * *

The apprehension was palpable when Kirishima entered Asami's condo a little before noon. The boss was already awake, standing at the breakfast bar with a cup of steaming tea and the morning's paper folded to a certain page in the domestic section. His cup remained untouched, and his sharp eyes followed Akihito as he flitted about in a disjointed manner. The boy's hands shook slightly as they placed a cup of most likely lukewarm, horribly prepared ryokucha tea before Kirishima and muttered a haphazard, "M'rning."

Asami granted him a short greeting as Akihito finally grabbed a room-temperature bottle of water from the pantry and began walking toward Asami, clutching his camera bag strap like it was a lifeline. The boss and kid usually shared one last public display of affection, and the more intense Asami's schedule was for the day, the longer and deeper the embrace became.

This morning, Akihito pushed up on the balls of his feet to peck at Asami's lips before Asami seized the back of his neck and refused to let him go until Akihito surrendered into a full, soul-devouring kiss. Akihito offered a few sharp whines of protest before they lengthened to moans, and Kirishima averted his eyes. Though he didn't begrudge his boss any sort of happiness, he enjoyed the mornings that began at Sion's corporate headquarters much more.

When the kiss ended, Akihito cast a nasty glower at Asami. "What was that for?"

Asami's fingers lingered upon Akihito's bangs. "You've been avoiding the refrigerator and the living room all morning."

"I have to go. My editor—" Akihito tried to pass, but Asami snagged him by the elbow, tugging him back.

"You're uncomfortable here."

"You deduce that all by yourself, Sherlock?" Akihito jerked his arm away before crossing both, glaring at the kitchen cabinets. "Look, I just need a few days, okay? It was just last night, and I—"

Asami shot a quick look toward Kirishima. "Have Suoh set up security at the private penthouse and have dinner ready for us about midnight."

Kirishima ducked his head enough to be professional as he typed into his phone and made arrangements. "I will also have the most immediate personal effects moved. Computer, scanner, a few sets of clothes, the cameras, of course."

"Yes, and perhaps you should speak with our usual real estate contact, though I won't be making any permanent arrangements until the current situation in Shibuya is handled."

Shibuya, Kirishima knew, was owned by Asami, though Tsukino attempted to stab his flag into the territory and claim it as his own before.

Over the edge of his phone, Kirishima could see the top of Akihito's hair flop back and forth as he looked between the boss and assistant. "Private penthouse? This isn't your private penthouse? How could you keep something like that from me?" he accused before subjecting Kirishima to the incredulous tone as well. "And what the hell do you mean, you're going to move my stuff? Where?"

Asami tried to distract Akihito with continuous, gentle caresses with his warm lips along Akihito's jawline, but Akihito pushed him away. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not working."

Naïve, perhaps, but the boy was not stupid.

Asami chuckled, a warm, indulgent laugh that dribbled the tension from Akihito's shoulders and also bent his eyebrows. "Aren't you late for your editorial meeting?"

"Will you just answer me?"

Asami captured the plush flesh of Akihito's lips once more, causing Kirishima to push up his glasses and turn away. Asami replied, "Meet me at the Park Hyatt tonight. We'll discuss our future arrangements then."

After recovering a cool water bottle and an orange from the refrigerator, Asami slipped them into Akihito's bag but slid a new black access card in his front pocket. Then, he sent Akihito on his way with a slap to the ass. The boy must have been late because he checked his cell phone and sighed before leaving without a responsive glare in Asami's direction.

Kirishima watched as the warm mask of a lover shed from Asami's face to reveal the cool continence of a ruthless businessman. "Status."

Kirishima snapped into routine. "I was able to arrange the meeting with Tsukino."

"It wasn't a struggle, I assume."

"Apparently, Tsukino does want a word with you, but I do not believe it is a word you will find comforting."

Asami's laugh was weighed but enjoyed, and his teacup clinked in the sink. "What is life without a few challenges, Kirishima?"

"Perhaps one longer lived, Asami-sama."

Asami nodded his agreement. "Discuss Akihito's security with Suoh. It might be nothing, but he was at Sion yesterday and was not allowed entrance. That seems like something the men upon him would have taken care of."

"Undoubtedly."

"So why didn't they?"

The stinging answer hung between them, their eyes receiving the weight of the truth, and Kirishima ducked his head and typed on his cell. "I will find out, Asami-sama."

"Please do."

* * *

"So Kamiya and Abe, keep on the prime minister's dealings this week. I want to know if he's going to support the new law concerning drug shipments from China."

The small room in the middle of the bullpen was packed like usual on a Monday mid-afternoon editorial meeting. Between the journalists, the photojournalists, and the editors from all sections of the paper and online market, chairs were a bartering commodity and people made seats on tables, small ledges, and even each other.

"Mitarai!" The editor-in-chief screamed from his throne in the middle of the long table, clicking the top of his pen in a frenzied manner. "What do you have for me?"

Sitting next to Akihito, Mitarai typed furiously upon his phone. "I'm still running down a new lead on that gang violence in Shibuya."

"Unless you get hard evidence quickly, I want you on those warehouse deals with Takaba. Those prints were good last night. I'm going to want more."

Akihito rolled his eyes. Those would have been his takes if Mitarai hadn't distracted him with the Tsukino release.

"This is pretty important, Chief. Story of the year. I'll get you a SAJA Award this time." Mitarai finished abruptly and slid his phone into his back pocket.

"You better. And soon. I don't want lags above the fold. Takaba!"

He lifted his chin and regarded his editor with the full weight of the last twelve hours. "I want another crack at Tsukino."

His editor looked up from his notebook, his thumb poised over the top of the pen but not pressing. "No. All charges were dropped yesterday. We don't make news through vendetta."

"But he's a human trafficker. We know this. We just have to get the D.A. to—"

"Kuroda Shinji didn't have enough evidence to hold him. He's not going to prosecute a second—"

"So we just let a known trafficker go? He gets a 'get out of jail free' card, and that's it?"

The editor's hardened glare might make politician's entrails liquefy, but after looking into the devil's eyes every night, Akihito had become largely immune to such intimidation tactics. "Is this about your SAJA? You won that taking down Tsukino and now—"

Akihito tugged down his jacket and shirt collar enough to show his harmed skin. "If I don't get to him first, he'll get to me and to numerous other people out on the streets. He needs to go away for good."

The editor snapped his pen and scribbled onto his notebook. "Your funeral, Takaba. If you need police protection, let me know. Hirano!"

Akihito resituated his clothing to cover the thin line about his neck and crossed his arms. He could practically feel the burning stares from his colleagues. Some were happy, thankful that they had gotten out of such a dangerous business in the field. Some were fearful, wondering if something like that could ever happen to them, and some were jealous, wishing they were so close to the story they would be attacked, too (morons).

Akihito learned from his time with Asami and subsequently in China to be wary of the world and the dangers within it. Too bad he never learned how to run away from them.

* * *

Once the staff filtered out of the room, Mitarai approached the editor who scribbled upon the notepad. "Make it quick and make it good."

"What if I told you Asami Ryuichi was not only dating a well-known reporter but also living with him, and I can prove Asami used said reporter to take down a fellow mobster?"

The editor dropped his pen.

* * *

The meeting between two heads-of-state has less security than the club, but this was on his territory, which was the way Asami dealt. Home court advantage was more important for him than sports teams, and when dealing with a man who made his money in people trading, it was best to remain the stronger force. Even Newton knew a thing or two about warfare.

The darkened club brightened for a moment when Asami entered, and his eyes adjusted quickly to the shadows. In the middle of the dance floor stood a man not much shorter than him with silver eyes and styled bleached hair. His black suit with ice-blue silken undershirt was as sharply pressed as Asami's, his smooth face chiseled with muscle and masculine beauty. About him flocked his own female bodyguards with short shirts and thigh holsters. They, too, were dressed in finely pressed suits.

"Asami-sama," Tsukino spoke formally, the top half of his body bending into a bow. "I'm glad we'll have this time to talk. There have been some…misconceptions about our business relationship."

"Perhaps you missed the company memo, Tsukino." Asami leveled the man with a dark glower. "I terminated our business relationship. I don't deal with human traffickers."

"I prefer 'humanity opportunist,'" Tsukino leered as he straightened his back, the malevolent smirk growing upon his pale features. "And you didn't seem to mind my extracurricular activities when you were training me to be your next-in-succession."

"That was before you began using your profits to fund your own personal slavery market."

"Which I was more than willing to cut you in on. I have loyalty, Asami-sama."

Anger simmered underneath Asami's cool exterior, white-hot and hungry, but his blazing eyes only portrayed the rage beneath the surface. "Like a dog, Tsukino? When my dogs act out, I put them down."

"I thought you were a man like that until I saw the condemning photos from a certain cute piece of ass." Tsukino stuck his hands in his jacket pocket, causing Suoh and Kirishima to reach for their weapons, but Tsukino put out an elegant hand to motion his innocence before revealing a pack of cigarettes. He patted it twice on one end and held the pack out to Asami. When Asami didn't move, Tsukino shrugged and pulled one out by his teeth. "I think it's hysterical the double standard you've set. It's okay if your own cute and cuddly widdy kitty screws you, but if it's the rest of us, you have a problem."

"Well, I won't let you screw me," Asami replied coolly as the anger exploded into blazing rage. He watched as the lighter's brief flame added an eerie, devilish glow to Tsukino's malicious features.

"Oh, I don't know about that, especially since I know what you did last summer," Tsukino sing-songed, a haughty smirk edging his lips. "So, now that you've placed him in the middle of our little war, I'll keep him there for good old times' sake. Let him discover what it truly means to skim the abyss."

Asami bit off his words. "You will never touch him."

"Oh, oh, it's not me you have to worry about, Asami-sama. Oh, no."

The girls drew their weapons as Tsukino took step after step toward the exit.

"It's the rest of Tokyo's families."

Suddenly, a van tore through the back wall of the club, spewing concrete and debris about the dance floor. Asami lunged behind the table Suoh threw on its side as rapid gunfire barraged the table top. Asami drew his weapon and waited for a lull before he, Kirishima, and Souh all fired upon the van and its inhabitants, but it peeled away quickly, Asami's men outside also made a valiant but futile effort to stop it.

Asami huffed as he stood, and after making sure his closest men were unharmed, he pocketed his gun. "Suoh, have your men keep Takaba in their sights constantly. Kirishima, see if we can find where that van went. We need to put that dog down for good."

* * *

"We shouldn't be meeting like this," Kuroda Shinji chastised.

Akihito sat upon his car in the parking garage, his legs dangling off the side, his camera bag upon the hood. "A BMW, huh? You can afford this on a government paycheck?"

Kuroda's nose instantly pointed upward, his chin raised like he was reprimanding at a petulant child. "Get off my car."

"Was it a present from _Asami-sama_?"

Kuroda came so close to Akihito that he could smell the man's sweat and cologne. Huh. Not a smoker. "My working relationship with Asami is something best kept secret for all parties involved, including yourself. Unless, of course, you wish for me to discuss certain aspects of said relationship with the editor of _The Weekly Edition_."

Begrudgingly, Akihito jumped off the BMW's hood. "Look, Tsukino sent a man to kill me yesterday in Asami's apartment." If he wasn't almost killed yesterday, he would have the profound surprise upon Kuroda's face rather funny. "I know that would have made you happy, but I do want to catch this bastard. He's selling people. Even you must understand—"

Kuroda's accusatory finger shook when he speared it into Akihito's chest. "No one wants him off the streets more than I do, and despite what you think, I didn't release him. There was simply not enough evidence to keep him for the mail fraud, and the time allowed didn't let me convince any of his known victims to testify."

"Then what do you need?" Akihito asked.

Kuroda sent him an appraising sideways glance, almost as if he was debating his options before shaking his head and unclicking his car with a beep. "Ooh, no. My head is already on a platter. There's no way I'm adding getting you killed or sold on the black market as another strike."

"Another strike?" Akihito cocked his head to the side as Kuroda obviously cursed himself. "Did…did Asami talk to you about this? About me?"

Throwing his briefcase in the back seat, Kuroda motioned toward the passenger side. "Get in."

Akihito hesitated. After all, this man truly did hate him if their previous experiences said anything, and if he was in business with Asami, then Akihito was sure nothing was off-limits to Kuroda. But the man hit his window down and urged, "Are you coming or not? I have a schedule to keep."

The hesitation fled as annoyance barged in, and Akihito raced around the front of the car to fall into the passenger seat. "Just remember if you kill me, you'll have to deal with Asami."

"Trust me," Kuroda laughed dryly. "I don't need any reminders."

As they pulled out of the garage and onto the busy Shinjuku streets, Kuroda glanced over to Akihito every few seconds. "We played the hand with Tsukino and mail fraud, and lost. If we're going to get him convicted, it has to be for human trafficking, and it has to be hard evidence. Hand in the cookie jar. Pistol with finger prints in the magazine. That sort of thing."

"And if I get you this, you think you can get a conviction?"

Kuroda glanced over, but this time, Akihito could see the cold truth in his eyes. "I could have him strung up in the government plaza."

Akihito looked out the window. "You seem really confident."

"Let me put it to you this way. If we catch him before Asami-sama, we'll actually be doing the guy a favor."

"So why are you doing this?" Akihito found himself asking, though his mind screamed at him to stop his runaway mouth. "I know you don't approve of your boss and me. Why help me?"

Kuroda's silence seemed to stretch for minutes before Akihito mustered up the courage to look at Kuroda. He seemed in deep thought, his eyes never veering from the road, before he released a resigned sigh. "My opinion on Asami-sama's relationships matter very little to him. It does not matter if I approve or not. All that matters to Asami is what he desires, and right now, he desires you with a fervor I have seen few times in him. It makes me…concerned, for him to be _involved_ with someone such as yourself."

"A journalist?"

"A twenty-four-year-old upstart who deems himself the partner to a man who has no equal."

Did all of Asami's men feel that way about him? Kirishima? Souh, too? They seemed to tolerate him in the beginning, but now they seemed…cordial, even accepting of him in Asami's life. But did they see him as an unworthy partner, too?

"Y'know, your boss came onto me first, not the other way around," Akihito's arms crossed as he sat back in the seat. That wasn't the entire story, but it was close enough.

Kuroda snorted. "Perhaps, but it's only a matter time before either you or he sees the truth. Hong Kong should have been a warning. You won't survive in this world, Takaba-san. You can't. You'll be eaten alive, which I'm sure has already happened—"

Heat flushed Akihito's cheeks red. "You bas—"

"—and he'll die trying to save you, or you'll die before he can. Either way, he'll be dead emotionally or physically, and that's something I would fight forever to spare him from." Kuroda cast him one last, hardened glare. "Wouldn't you?"

Akihito opened his mouth to refute the truth, to say he could watch out for himself, but Hong Kong, the stalker…there was so many instances where if Asami hadn't intervened…

"Now, I have a meeting, and you need to get out of my car," Kuroda interrupted his troubling thoughts. "So where can I drop you?"

* * *

"What a jerk!"

That was what Akihito liked best about his friends. They always had his side, even when he was undoubtedly wrong.

Takato stood with his back leaning against the bathroom doorframe, his arms crossed in judgment. "Who's that guy to make claims about you? He doesn't even know you."

"But he does know his boss, and…maybe he's right, y'know?" God, Akihito couldn't believe he was saying this out loud. "I mean, Asami and I aren't exactly compatible."

"Neither is Kou and the human race, but you don't see him caring."

Akihito laughed, allowing the pent-up tension to flow from his body. Usually he enjoyed salon days, getting to lay back and let the ladies experiment with the latest hair colors and styles, but this wasn't going to be his permanent hair color for long. And he just didn't have the time.

But after his discussion with Kuroda, he needed to vent and unwind with a friend. He was glad Takato's wife and the baby had gone to see her parents this week, allowing him to sneak over here after grabbing the hair dye.

With gloves on his own hands, he worked the liquid from the bottle and onto his honey hair. He struggled to find the right words but finally went with the truth. "I haven't…been exactly honest about Asami and his line of work. I might have left out a few things…and added some others..."

"So his dick really isn't the size of the Tokyo Skytree?"

"Oi!" Akihito hit him hard in the shoulder, staining his shirt. "Kou said that, not me!"

"And Kou would know the size of his dick…how?"

Akihito's deep blush seeped down his cheeks and into his neck. "Shut up."

Sighing, Takato fell onto the toilet seat cover beside Akihito and met his worried gaze without prejudgment. "I figured Asami-san wasn't just a businessman, especially when you started disappearing on some nights. Then there was that the whole Hong Kong scenario. Right after that, you move in with someone Kou and I hadn't heard of, and he had the same dangerous aura as the Chinese guy. He's not like Donald Trump."

"He does have better hair."

"A bald man has better hair."

Akihito's fidgeting fingers smoothed his hair back, the black now through most of his locks.

"Takato…despite everything, I love him. I really do, and there's no safer place for me than in his arms."

Takato looked at him with an unflinching gaze. "Does he know that?"

Akihito thought for a moment before nodding. "I think so."

"Then what do you care what this Kuroda guy says?"

"Because what happens if his other goons feel the same way? Kirishima and Suoh and the others…? What if they tell them and he listens? Maybe he'll…he'll…" He didn't want to put the unsettling thought out into the universe.

Takato whistled. His wide, teasing smile was just annoying. "You fell hard, man. _Really_ hard, didn't you?"

Akihito closed his eyes. He might have not to say the words, but the throbbing in his heart wouldn't deny his feelings. He had fallen so deep that it scared him.

"Good," Takato replied.

Akihito glanced up from underneath the drooping towel. "How do you figure?"

"You shouldn't be with a guy you can stand to lose. You should always be with someone you love just a little too much, who you're willing to offer everything you are to and who's willing to take it and give you everything he is. That's what love is, Aki.

"Of course," he continued, shouting back from the hallway. When he returned, he held two beers. "That can be good or bad. When it's my wife, all I have to take is her horrible rice balls and this little tsking she does with her tongue when she's reprimanding me like she does our child. When it's a quasi-yakuza businessman, I'm sure the good and the bad are a little more extreme."

Akihito snorted at the obvious understatement. "So," he sighed as he set the timer, "did you get the information I asked for?"

Takato spat out his beer, coughing violently until his breathing came under control. "Why can't you use the other source, the one that tipped you off about the mail fraud?"

"I, eh, really don't like to use him if I don't have to," Akihito winced and blocked the memories of his previous meeting with the man. "Look, Takato, the winery warehouse was a bust. I need to know some more of Tsukino's associates, so I know who else to—"

"Y—You know I could lose my job for this."

Akihito sent Takato a sympathetic smile. "I know. Really, I do, but you knew that when you originally came to me with the scanned letters about Tsukino and his contracts at your work. He's a trafficker, and I can't let that scumbag go free, just like you couldn't." He stared deep into Takato's soul, a tiny drop of black dye dribbling down his forehead. "I can stop him, Take, but I need your help."

"And this help…" Takato dug into his back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of computer paper. "It's going to get you into more trouble, isn't it? You can't tell me you're dyeing your hair back to its original color for the fun of it."

"It's a rinse," Akihito said with a cocky smile. "And Renowned Photojournalist Takaba Akihito can't be seen snooping around Tsukino's places of business, but a nameless waiter with no ties to a magazine can."

"And how about Asami Ryuichi's boyfriend?"

Akihito's smile deflated. "I—I thought about that, but this is my job. I can't just stop taking down sleazoids because I'm dating the…" He refused to use the word "devil," and shrugged. "Well, who I am. I know people might recognize me or my name, but the victims are already in danger. I have to help them."

"This is my fault," Takato seethed. "If I just wouldn't have clicked on that file—"

"You're an IT guy, Takato. It's your job to click on virus-ridden files."

"Just…" Takato rubbed the back of his neck, and his hand fell to his thigh with a slap. "Just promise me you won't do anything reckless."

"Hey! I'm very cautious, especially during a job."

"Uh-huh. So what's with the choker look?"

"Shut up." Akihito absently rubbed his injured skin before snatching away the proffered paper. "And anyway, you don't need to worry. The kind of investigating I'll be doing is practically babysitting. I'll even make a few bucks doing it."

"You're not bartending at one of those skeezy bars, are you?"

"Y'know, not all human traffickers deal in scummy bars. Try not to be so close-minded." Akihito glanced down at the printed document, thankful that he didn't have to see Takato's reaction. "I'm serving drinks at a gentlemen's club."

* * *

The Park Hyatt Tokyo was drizzled with opulence. Akihito had become familiar with the hotel having sat in the white leather chairs of the forty-story lobby many a time waiting for a Diet member or other high society villain to sneak out after a rendezvous with a black market scumbag. Even then, dressed in a faded suit and strangled by a tie, Akihito felt awkward among the prestige that oozed from every facet of the hotel. It suited Asami wonderfully, sleek and chic with beautiful wooden panels with elegant low light and a few decorative palm trees that would never grow natively in Tokyo. For a moment, Akihito was lost in the memory of the resort in Bali and the whispered confession and mind-numbing sex that reacquainted him with reality—or whatever their reality was.

With his heart warmed, Akihito wondered where his lover might be, lost in the sea of suits and trench coats, and why Asami would want to meet him here, especially knowing that Akihito wore nothing more than a pair of faded jeans and a collared shirt. If he didn't have that editorial meeting, he would have been in a no-sleeved tee.

His sneakers squeaked upon the polished granite floors, and he swallowed hard as he whirled on his heel. Sliding out his phone, he opened the message app to type a quick, "Where in the world is Asami Ryuichi?" when a non-threatening man came to his side.

"Takaba-san."

The man was the hotel concierge, dressed in a dark suit with a golden nametag.

"Yes?"

The man offered a bow and a room key slip. "Asami-san wishes your presence in the Diplomat Suite."

Akihito hesitantly reached for the key, and the man straightened once he had it. "Asami-san said you might try to avoid being noticed, but I did not expect the change of hair color. Nicely done."

Suuure…because he was trying to impress the concierge.

He took the glass elevator to one of the upper floors, his nose pressed to the window to see the entire lobby. He slipped into the private alcove where Suoh and another one of Asami's men were posted on either side of the large wooden door. Suoh regarded him with a nod and a respectful, "Good evening, Takaba-kun."

Akihito returned it as he stuck his key in, and the lock released a shrill bleep. "Good evening, Suoh-san."

The magnificent but darkened suite matched the rest of the hotel with granite and marble floors and a massive TV that rivaled Asami's, tucked in the caverns of a black-wooden entertainment system, complete with Wii, X-Box, and PlayStation. The white couches and chairs added light to the otherwise dark room. A shining piano displayed elegance, dominating the area just before the dining room, which was lit by only candles. Shimmering room service dish covers occupied one side of the table along with two place settings.

It was the view of Yoyogi Park that thumped Akihito's camera bag to the ground, and he dashed toward the window, taking in all that was Tokyo at this late hour. The lights of the cities and the buildings mingled and danced to make a kaleidoscope of eye merriment. Only one view he'd ever seen rivaled it—Asami's condo's. With his splayed hands smudging the glass, he didn't hear someone approach until their warm, strong arms wrapped about his slender waist.

"I take it you like it," Asami whispered just above Akihito's ear, eliciting a delicious shiver from the younger man.

"It's beautiful but unnecessary. I was fine at home."

"You were a basket case, a bundle of frayed nerves." Asami's tongue swept about his ear before teeth nibbled the top, grinding lightly upon the tough skin. "A kitten scratching at the curtains for swinging."

Akihito rolled his eyes and caught the sight of Asami over his head. His slicked hair was still wet from a shower, and instead of his usual business attire, he wore a black, short-sleeved sweater with a zip-down collar. Though golden eyes, warm and gentle, captivated Akihito, he felt the tough fabric against his backside.

"A—Are you wearing jeans?"

Asami nodded once before directing his eyes toward the city again. "You did buy them for me as a birthday present. Did you never expect me to wear them?"

"Yes. You don't do jeans. Let me see!" Akihito scrambled out of Asami's hold to whirl and gasp at the delicious sight that greeted him from behind Asami. God, he'd gotten the right size. Everything was tight and displayed like candy for Akihito to devour.

Asami chuckled, as if he knew what Akihito was thinking, and kissed him briefly on the head. "Why don't you make us some drinks at the wet bar? I'll give us some entertainment."

Entertainment? Unless it involved getting Asami out of those jeans Akihito'd always wanted to see him in, Akihito really wasn't interested.

He found the wet bar a few feet from the piano, and thankfully, the ice bucket was already filled. He plopped three ice cubes into the bottom of a tumbler (Asami's preferred amount) and a few more in his before he sought the aged whiskey. He briefly wondered if Asami had brought his own liquor cabinet with him when the low, sweet sound of a piano swept through the once silent room. Akihito whirled, looking to see a professional musician sitting at the bench, but instead, Asami sat at the keys, his fingers moving in smooth, flowing motions.

After placing a tumbler upon the piano's top, Akihito settled upon the bench, sitting in the opposite direction of his lover. He smiled, enjoying the look of pure enjoyment upon Asami's face. "I didn't know you could play."

The feral smirk was back as was the challenging tone. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me."

Akihito sipped the smooth amber to hide the lovesick smile threatening to overtake his features. "Tell me another."

Asami leaned in close, his lips a hair's breath away from Akihito's so when he spoke, they would brush together. "This isn't the first time I've worn jeans."

Those mesmerizing eyes, that familiar and musky scent, even the warm breath that caressed his face, engulfed Akihito in a miasma of lust and love, and he pulled away, his cheeks a dark scarlet, noticeable even in the darkened suite.

"Why are you doing this?" Akihito swallowed another sip of the whiskey as he stood. Lifting one of the silver lids, he discovered one of his favorite dishes awaiting him at the table. "This awesome room. My favorite dishes. The—The jeans even. It's like…oh, God. Who the hell did you fuck!"

The music ended abruptly as Asami stood. "Is it so wrong of me to want to pamper you once and awhile?"

"I'm not a girl! I don't need to be coddled."

"Then will you simply enjoy as I indulge myself?" He came closer, his eyes burning in the shadows, his gentle hand brushing down Akihito's cheek. "This room is my personal suite. It's attached to a board room in which I do business with certain people who cannot be seen at Sion."

"I—I thought you conducted business at the Sheraton."

Ryuichi's smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. "I meet other men of less distinguished backgrounds in a place such as that."

Akihito snorted. "And you had me go there?"

"I was already there when you called, and at the time, we weren't as…familiar with one another as we are now."

"Is that what we are?" Akihito laughed, never looking away from Asami's captivating gaze. "Familiar?"

"Something like that…"

The heated kiss stirred emotions deep within Akihito, and he dropped the tumbler upon the ground, his arms sliding up Asami's chest to lock about his neck. The overwhelming taste of the alcohol wafted into his mouth as he sought Asami's tongue and he moaned as the man devoured him in their usual soul-seeking embraces.

When they broke, Asami wiping his lips with his tongue. Akihito huffed and found all the insecurities still there from his discussion with Kuroda alive upon his lips as he whispered, "You could have anyone you want." He fidgeted with Asami's collar, his eyes focused on the man's red lips. "Movie stars. Diplomats. Hell, maybe even the emperor himself."

Asami's warm laugh only swirled the rising anticipation in Akihito's belly. "He's a little old for my taste."

"Well…that's…something," Akihito stammered before pulling and leaning back against window. He could feel the cool temperatures upon his back, helping to steal the lust from his body. "Asami…I—I—"

"Are you…worried?" Smug bastard. He scooped Akihito into his hold once more, his hands slipping under the back of Akihito's T-shirt. "Are you afraid of what would happen if you fall so hard for me that you'll never recover if I let you go?"

A fierce wave of lightheadedness swept Akihito in a current of unsettling wonder, and he stared up at the golden eyes that held him captive in their intensity. He said nothing, would not give into the fear that ate his heart, but Asami nodded nonetheless, dusting kisses across his temple and jawline.

"Good. Now you know how I felt every moment you were in Hong Kong."

The addictive lips found his, kneading and melting with a delicious need, and the words slipped through once Akihito's defenses fell completely.

"…I love you."

Asami's eyes softened, if only for a moment, and his soul showed once more, bright and wonderful for Akihito to take. And he did, tightening his arms about Asami's neck and pressing his body flush against his lover's. Asami whispered a tiny truth in his ear, amusement dripping from every word. "Took you long enough."

The question came later, clothes amiss and flesh upon flesh, Asami feeding Akihito the room service he'd ordered.

"So are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?"

Akihito glanced up at Asami's questioning gaze.

"What's with the black hair?"

* * *

Akihito chugged a few shots beneath the mahogany bar to calm his frayed nerves when no one was looking. He felt very much like the wildcat Asami called him at times, his back arched with his claws out and a warning hiss upon his lips. After all, the gentlemen's bar was anything but gentlemanly. Men and even a few choice women sat in the elegant wing-backed chairs, smoking cigars and drinking cognac that cost more than he made in a year. Most of the patrons he recognized either from his stakeouts or from his dinners with Asami and some of his clients. Akihito met the few Asami brought home and treated as if they were legitimate businessmen. Akihito had thought they were until he saw them here, sitting about Eto Kin. The man was supposedly in importing and exporting of fine furniture, but according to the document Takato had given him, the smooth-talking bastard slipped other commodities into his shipment.

"Hey, you! New kid! No tasting!" the manager yelled, yanking him up by the collar. "Now get out there and do your job! The boss is coming tonight, and if you screw up his drink order, you'll find yourself without a job and other things."

With not nearly enough alcohol in his system, Akihito gathered enough nerve to venture back out into the serving area. He weaved between the tables to pick up any garbage, but he always tried to remain close to Eto to hear if he spoke about Tsukino and his business. Perhaps the man would even show. This was Tsukino's chosen bargaining arena, his headquarters. It must have been owned by him with the subsidiaries Akihito dug up while investigating and if not him, then surely a partner.

Of course, all his logic and planning were thrown out the second all conversations ceased and everyone turned toward the door. Akihito followed their gaze to the man flanked by two guards, perfect in every way but timing.

The manager scrabbled to the newcomer's side and bowed. "Welcome, Asami-sama."

Asami Ryuichi owned this club.

**To Be Continued…**


	3. It's Complicated with AR

**Author's Note:** Special thanks to Crash Tuesday for the beta.

"**The Hardest Thing" **

**Chapter Three – It's Complicated with Asami Ryuichi.**

Akihito realized in retrospect he should have known the gentlemen's club Tsukino frequented was owned by Asami. His lover had his hand in numerous dealings and underhanded crimes, but still, something inside Akihito said Asami wouldn't work with human traffickers. Maybe it was just his own hope since he had almost suffered that horrible fate, but he didn't think he could love a man who bought and sold humans in such a fashion. And he loved Asami. That much he knew.

So he hovered around the two chairs as long as he could, taking orders from the patrons and collecting their napkins, ashtrays, and empty glasses.

"You do realize that half of your legitimate profit comes from my business, Eto-san," Asami pressed when Akihito let a butt drop to the ground. "I would hate for you to suddenly be without the necessary income to run your _other_ operations."

Akihito bent over, careful so his ass wasn't directed toward Asami, and listened.

"I—I haven't seen him since he was released. It seems that he realizes he made an enemy of you and wishes to simply fade away."

The dangerous edge in Asami's voice wasn't new for Akihito, but he hadn't heard it since Asami spoke with Feilong on the cruise ship. "Lie to me again, Eto, and it will be the last lie you ever tell."

As Akihito stood, he watched Eto's hand shake with a violent tremor, and the older man emptied the glass with one gulp. Thumping it upon the small table between the chairs, Eto snapped his fingers and motioned for another drink. Great. Asami was flanked by both Kirishima and Suoh, and going around either of them would be risky. The best he could hope for was to reach between the two businessmen and hope Asami was too engrossed in his conversation with Eto to notice him.

"Tsukino c-called me, Asami-sama. Said he had information he needed to speak with the families about. Something that he would make him the king of Tokyo."

Eto dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief as Akihito reached between them. He held his breath, his fingers brushing the edge of the cool glass.

"He wanted me to set up a meeting of the heads. I told him that was ridiculous. Only people in movies do that, so he told me to meet with each one separately."

"And offer what?" Asami pressed, and Akihito could hear the annoyance in his voice. He quickly retracted his hand and turned letting out a brief, relieved sigh.

A little louder than Asami, a patron next to Akihito's right—a cougar, no doubt—called over the manager and whispered, "I'll take him."

Horrified, he missed what Eto said, but a sharp grip snatched his wrist and squeezed painfully until Akihito let out a yelp. The large hand softened its hold but refused to relinquish it, even after Akihito turned and glowered. Asami didn't look at him, only kept his sharp eyes trained upon Eto.

"You're going to contact Tsukino and tell him that you've found a buyer, and then you're going to get his whereabouts."

Akihito tugged at the grip and even dropped his serving tray and the glass to the ground to free a hand, but Asami only tightened his hold until Akihito stopped struggling. He didn't seem to care who watched or saw them as he continued his conversation like only he and Eto existed.

"I-I can't, Asami-sama. You don't understand. Tsukino is a feral dog. He takes joy in mutilating his enemies. He'll—"

"And how do you think you'll fare with me?" He accepted a drink from a passing waiter, taking a lazy sip.

Then, a sudden jerk found Akihito in Asami's lap, the strong arm now clamped about his waist. He scrabbled at it. "Hey, you jerk! Let me—"

"I can assure you, Eto, your chances of survival in this matter are not very many in either circumstance, but I can promise you this. If anything happens to the prize Tsukino is offering the families—" Akihito shivered when Asami's lips found his neck, and his lover spoke with a lustful, smooth tone. "—what he would do to you would be mercy compared to what I will."

"I, uh, I shall call him, Asami-sama."

"Please do so." Asami was up then, turning to Kirishima without ever letting go of Akihito. "Stay with him. I'll be back after I deal with the stray."

His futile resistance made Akihito feel better, like it displeased Asami to have him so indocile, but Asami dragged him through the stuffy club and its chaotic kitchen before kicking open the back door. It led to an alley where he finally tossed Akihito out in front of him while Suoh exited and stood guard.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?" Asami snapped, the unusual curse slapping Akihito harder than his exasperated tone. "I try to keep you alive, but you somehow always find a way to undermine that effort."

"Shut up, you jerk!" Akihito fisted his hands at his thighs as Asami produced a cigarette from a Dunhill box and cupped his hands to protect the flame. "You think you're so superior to everyone else, but you still crap like the rest of us."

"Better than most people, I assure you." He puffed a tumbling cloud of smoke before shaking his head. "Perhaps we should discuss that leash option again."

"Maybe you should discuss how you're going to sit with my foot permanently shoved up your ass," Akihito challenged, arms crossed. "Look, I get that you're trying to protect me, but—"

"You were almost killed less than forty-eight hours ago," Asami interrupted. "You then throw yourself into harm's way without a second thought, preaching that you're doing it to help others and expecting me to be okay with it."

Akihito thrust a shaking finger against Asami's chest. "Oh, don't throw my job up to my face when you leave me every day with an illegal gun strapped to you. You don't seem to care how that affects me, and what I do saves lives. What do you ruins them."

Asami was there, scowling down at Akihito like he was a petulant child. "I will not discuss my business with you. You know that."

"And yet I have to discuss mine? Yet I have to be _stalked_ every moment of the day? Yet I have to—"

Asami cut him off with a skimming hand that caressed his cheek and cradled his head. "Is it so wrong of me to want to protect you, Akihito?"

There it was, the vulnerable expression Asami offered only to him, his soul barred for Akihito to wade in. He sighed, his own fight draining from him, but he looked up Asami with his own hopefully lost expression. "How do you know Tsukino?"

"Jealous, Akihito? Or are you sniffling around my heels?" Asami's thumb wiped his cheekbone, and when Akihito opened his mouth, Asami put a single finger to his lips. "I had a working relationship with Tsukino when I didn't know about his abhorrent side project. Your photos actually prevented me from dealing with him."

"And now that he's out, you're trying to get him before he gets me?"

Asami threw his half-smoked cigarette to the pavement and stubbed it out with the toe of his loafer. "Among other things."

Akihito hit away Asami's hand. "I'm afraid to ask about those other things."

"So let me handle Tsukino."

"And let you undercut my scoop? Like hell."

Asami's sharp tone could cut solid steel. "You remember the last time you investigated Tsukino, don't you?"

"Like you'd let me forget it." Heat flushed his already pink cheeks.

"Receiving a call at three o'clock in the morning and not being able to understand a word you're saying because you're choking on your own blood, is something I will not repeat."

Akihito closed his eyes and could imagine being back in that alley. He'd escaped Tsukino's office by falling out of a window after Tsukino found him and decided to beat into him the same lesson Asami himself had given Akihito almost two years ago with a different tactic. The first punch blurred Akihito's vision. The second and third broke ribs. He didn't remember what broke his arm—the fall or Tsukino.

"I survived!"

"Barely, and thanks to my—"

"Shh!" Akihito put up a hand, the flat palm toward Asami, and he glanced about the alley. It was quieter in this section of city, unlike Shinjuku which assaulted his senses and created a cacophony of deafening sounds outside of Sion. Here, Akihito could hear the rapid snaps of a camera lens. He whirled toward the familiar noise and noticed a man perched upon the club's roof, the lens catching the neon lights off the building next door.

"There!" Akihito shouted and took off toward the fire escape, jumping high enough to grab the ladder.

"Akihito! Wait!" Asami ordered, but Akihito stormed the zig-zag of stairs. When he finally reached the roof, he was greeted with nothing more than a carton of instant ramen noodles and a pair of sunglasses, designer ones, too. He took off to the other side of the roof and glanced down at that abandoned alley. Whoever had been up there was long gone.

Akihito's mind reeled. Who would benefit from Asami and his relationship being exposed? It made no sense. The families of Tokyo? Asami's rivals? His rivals? Tsukino? But why would he even care? Unless…

"Akihito!"

By the time he made it to the edge of the roof again, Asami had pulled his gun and Suoh was halfway up the fire escape. Strong and formidable, sure, but Suoh was neither lithe nor quick.

"Someone was taking pictures of us," Akihito announced, picking up the glasses. "I heard the shutter snaps."

After climbing down a few flights, he landed with bent knees before glaring up at Asami, allowing his eyes to blaze so his lover could see just how much this ordeal meant to him. "This can't have been a coincidence. Do you think it's—"

"Suoh, take Akihito back to the hotel," Asami spoke over his head, Suoh's presence descending upon him in one swift bear hug. "After Kirishima and I are done with Eto, we'll join you."

"Nnnugh! No! You can't do this!" Akihito struggled and kicked, frustration growing as Suoh stopped every attack he'd ever taught Akihito effortlessly. "You can't manhandle me!"

Asami's eyes blazed now, the light low but fierce in the narrowed windows of his soul. "I hold your freedom, or have you forgotten? I know I have been lenient recently, so perhaps now is the perfect time to reinforce that fact."

"Y—You bastard!" Suoh began to lead him away toward the now idling town car at the end of the alley. "You don't own me! You can't tell me what to do!"

"Still proclaiming that, Akihito? One day you will learn. Perhaps today."

The string of curses that spurted from Akihito's mouth lifted the very edge of Asami's elegant lips in a smirk. Asami started away then with a brisk turn, entering the club without even an infuriating glance toward Akihito. Suoh was already whispering soft apologies in his ear, but his massive hands scrunched Akihito tighter when he increased his resistance. Akihito's heart beat quickened in his chest. He would most likely be restrained or drugged until Asami finished his business, but there was no way he was going to let that happen. This was his scoop, and he'd be damned if he'd lose it to Public Enemy Number One.

Apparently, Suoh knew all his tricks, though, for when he went limp, the self-proclaimed goon only kept his unbreakable hold tight. That meant there was only one option.

"Suoh-san," he started, breathless and melancholy. "I'm sorry…"

As they approached the now open car door with the driver standing by, Akihito bent over as far as he could in the hold and pressed two fingers deep with his mouth. It was a trick he learned the first few weeks on the job, utilizing the same principle as picking one's nose. People tended to look away from others doing unsociably disgusting things, and when someone barfed, people scattered quickly, even high-end goons.

The bile rushed into Akihito's mouth, followed by what remained of his late lunch, and despite all his stoic appearance, Suoh released him. The warm discharge burned Akihito's mouth and left a foul taste, but he recovered a second before Suoh, dashing down the block toward the alley that housed his bike. He heard Suoh's thundering footsteps, his pleading shouts, but by the time he would make it to the alley, Akihito would be as gone as the investigator who was tracking Asami and him.

* * *

"Eto said Tsukino set up the exchange for tomorrow night at the club," Kirishima informed at Asami fell back into his chair at Sion's corporate offices. The lovely Shinjuku night was displayed dazzlingly in the window behind him, though he barely noticed it through his tireless thoughts.

A low growl sounded in Asami's throat, and his lighter flame flickered to life. "Good. It will allow us to control the situation."

"I already spoke with our men and will have them ready to intercept Tsukino and Eto as well as the closing bidder. Eto said he wanted the buyer to meet him, not send a proxy."

Asami nodded and reclined back in the seat, his eyes drifting to the far wall where one of Akihito's impressive pictures still hung. "Any word from Suoh yet?"

"Uh—" A quick scroll of the cell phone message found Kirishima shaking his head. "—not yet, Asami-sama. He said he will keep you updated as he tracks Takaba's whereabouts."

Generally, this sort of activity, the sheer brash and unrelenting behavior Akihito exhibited, made Asami's blood race and mind wonder the many positions and actions he could take to exhaust the pent-up energy his youthful, little lover accumulated and then spent on his career. Oh, the better ways he could employ that energy until Akihito collapsed upon his chest, drained, content, and most importantly, safe.

Now Akihito ran wild through the streets of Tokyo, either attempting to find a deadly trafficker who could sell him without a single thought of hesitation; or he'd be in search of the man who attempted to ruin his life with a single photograph.

But Akihito wouldn't know the true ramifications of their relationship's publication. No, he wouldn't understand until the horrible deed was done and his entire life was upheaved. Sure, his career would be finished; no respecting paper would ever publish a work of his again, especially once it was discovered from where his last "scoop" came. Rivals from all walks of life, with statures from as low as a gutter rat to as high as a head-of-state, would be after a photographer who was only beginning to gain recognition now.

Finally, Akihito would have to be locked away in a comfortable cage, that very brashness Asami held in such high regard sacrificed in order to save his life.

Such was the way of Asami's world, where freedom was nothing more than an illusion Akihito now enjoyed.

Asami swiveled toward Kirishima before tapping his cigarette against a crystal ashtray on the desk. "At this moment, we shouldn't assume that Tsukino is the one having Takaba and me photographed together. Put a call into Sakagaki. See if he's heard anything from his journalistic contacts," he finished with an amused tone. "So…you think Sakamoto would be willing to pay the $30 million price tag?"

"Perhaps. After your blind-sided move to undercut their profits in Shibuya, they'd most likely kill Takaba rather than ransom him for their cut."

"True. Same with Kichida, though they'd probably be more ruthless." Asami accepted another cigarette from Kirishima without any guilt. It was one of those nights. "They'd probably cut off a part of him and send it to me."

Kirishima nodded. "I would hope by Express Mail. It'll smell after a few days if they only send it first class."

"We did find that out while dealing Hayashi, though I would hope they'd leave the boy's head intact."

"It would be the honorable thing to do."

Kirishima shared the knowing gaze his boss offered before he tapped his phone, tension forming his curt disposition. "Asami-sama."

Kirishima was a mother hen. Even Akihito called him that, and he was a cautious employee, if not a concerned one. But he was never _worried_, not like how he looked at that very moment with widened pupils and a shaky hand pushing up his glasses. "We found the men who were on Akihito's security detail the night he was attacked. They were dismembered and thrown in the dumpster behind Dracaena."

* * *

"You do realize what you're asking me, right?"

It was a bold mood, Akihito admitted, going to Sudoh Shuu for help. The older man barely held onto his job the last time Akihito and he met, but Sudoh was one of the very few men in Asami's world that Akihito could rely upon. Sudoh had been the one to help him find that missing girl and guided him through his initial uncertainty of his place at Asami's side. When Asami went out with someone like Azumi, they'd go drinking to drown out the agony of loving a man he could never embrace fully.

Akihito perhaps would dare to call him "friend." "I know it's a lot to ask, but I don't have anywhere else to turn. By now, Ryuichi will have put people on Kou and Takato. I can't go back home to even grab my good cameras."

"So, let me get this straight." Sudoh leaned back upon his desk and crossed his arms and ankles. "You want to stay over in my condo while you evade not only my boss, who would dismember me if he found out I was hiding you, but also while you evade Tsukino and someone who might also be trying to expose your and Asami-sama's relationship."

"I also need to track down Tsukino and the person photographing your boss and me."

"Before either one of them catches you."

Akihito's voice sounded purely innocent, complete with shining smile. "Exactly."

Sudoh sighed and winced, clutching the bridge of his nose at what appeared to be the onset of a debilitating headache. "I don't see the upside of this for me."

Akihito straightened his back, his hands fists at his side. "Tsukino needs to be stopped, and I can't do that trapped in Ryuichi's hotel suite."

"And is it your job to stop him? Why not let Asami—"

"He's my target, not Ryuichi's!"

"Whoa…okay. No need to freak out." Sudoh's hands were up in a surrender position before he sighed and ruffled his once styled hair. "All right. All right. So…if we're going to do this, we have to do it right. Asami-sama can't know you left here with me." He snatched onto Akihito's arm and tugged him toward the massive walk-in closet. "Come on!"

Akihito wasn't sure what happened after that, blinded up powder puffs and hair gel. His waiter disguise were tugged from his body and replaced by a chic suit with a flashy undershirt and an open collar. His now black hair was styled like a model's, and he exchanged his black sneakers for shiny dress shoes. When he looked at himself in the mirror of Sudoh's office, he almost didn't recognize himself, but Sudoh fixed that with a simple pair of sunglasses—the only thing Akihito had brought with him when he came in.

He slowly tugged them down the bridge of his nose when Sudoh caught his hand. "No. You have to keep them on. They make the outfit."

"I thought the point was not to stand out," Akihito fumed.

Sudoh smirked in the mirror's reflection, shaking Akihito's arms encouragingly. "The point is not for any of Asami-sama's men to notice you. You can still stand out, and trust me. They will most definitely see you."

They did. Akihito couldn't help but fidget with the ends of his sleeves as he crossed the club floor less than five minutes later. Whistles and wolf calls from more than a few women and men heated his cheeks, though his glasses kept his expression mostly hidden. He never had dreamed of being seen like this, of being accepted at a club Sudoh had once told him he would never be allowed to enter.

Sudoh steered him through a back hallway and toward the exit, guards standing on either side of the door. Sudoh's flashy car sat waiting for Akihito, and he couldn't help the mischievous smile dimpling his cheeks. Sudoh really shouldn't trust him with his car. Asami didn't after that accident in Shibuya, though he still maintained it was the bastard's fault. And anyway, that car had been his to crash if he pleased.

Akihito rounded the back of the card, absentmindedly listening to Sudoh's demands to not even get a hairline scratch on it when the first bullet rang out in the night. A strong force from behind slammed Akihito to the ground as gunfire erupted in the alley. Sudoh's men fired upon the assassin, and conquering his fear, Akihito glanced up to see the rifle gun disappear from an adjacent roof.

"Go after him! Now!" Sudoh commanded, and the men took charge, rushing into the nearby building. A few stayed behind as Akihito stood and helped Sudoh, who winced.

Then Akihito saw the blood soaking Sudoh's side. "You're hurt!"

Sudoh looked at down at his clothes, almost disconnected to the blood. "Flesh wound. Akihito, why don't you come inside? Asami-sama will need to know about this, and—"

"No! I have to stop this!"

"By getting yourself killed? Takaba—Takaba, stop!"

Akihito was already in the car and zipping away, mowing over a garbage can and scratching the left fender as he did so. He could practically hear Sudoh moaning behind him.

* * *

Kirishima had put a call out to Dracaena the moment the information was known, but his conversation ended abruptly when shots and blood sang outside the club. Asami could dismiss the horrible publicity that would come from a shooting outside one of his clubs. He perhaps could even dismiss the fact that it was Sudoh's club that had the mishap since Sudoh and Akihito had grown closer. Despite the less-than-favorable circumstances of Sudoh and Akihito's first meetings, Sudoh had proven time and time again to be a valuable asset not just to Asami's business but also to his personal life. He was grateful that Akihito had found someone in which to confide about his life as Asami's partner, someone he could tell intimate truths without fear of judgment, though Asami could have done with the knowing giggles after the two returned home from one more than drinking session. That was one of the things he loved best about Akihito, though. The boy could destroy an enemy's ill will and somehow replace it with protective instincts. When he was alone and contemplated their relationship, he knew the truth—the boy had done the same to him.

But what Asami couldn't dismiss was the slip up of Sudoh not finding the men earlier or that he was willing to harbor Akihito from him. That would not be tolerated.

Tsukino was more dangerous than Akihito knew, more cunning and vile, and Asami's mind wandered back to the night he received the call from Akihito. He'd sent it to voicemail. To his day, he woke up at nights, a cool sweat dribbling down his brow, and his racing heart would only calm once he felt the warmth of his lover against his side.

So many things could have happened that didn't. Asami planned for every contingency, had men on Akihito, had men on Tsukino. They should have known what was happening in that room three stories above the ground, and yet he could only blame himself because Akihito called to him and he didn't answer.

Almost an hour later, he returned the call, the meeting with Feilong's proxy having ended rather positively. What came through was a muddled, choked sob, Asami's name upon his broken angel's lips, followed by the simple admission Asami thought he'd never hear.

"He..lp? …Pluh…Pluh…leeze?"

A devastating wave of roaring fear swept through Asami, threatening to crush even his strong will. The horrible words, spoken thickly with blood and huffed through labored breaths, squeezed Asami's heart and he offered quick solace before snapping curt orders to Kirishima and Suoh. They found Akihito less than ten minutes later; the battered and bloody boy huddled inside a mud room of a restaurant after picking the back lock. He whined and curled tighter into a ball, the living fear in his usually bright hazel eyes something Asami would never forget, and promised himself to never see again. Coaxing words and a gentle, familiar hand upon Akihito's forehead uncurled his frightened kitten. Asami was shocked by the force of the claws that dug into his sides, Akihito holding on for dear life until he passed out a few moments later, finally safe in his lover's arms.

Broken bones, torn ligaments, deep contusions—Tsukino would have been lucky to have any piece of him found, but before the attack, Akihito had sent his pictures to his colleague Mitarai. The story broke while Akihito slept for three days straight, his body recovering from the ordeal.

"Kirishima," he had whispered from Akihito's bedside, stroking his thumb along the bruised, soft padding of Akihito's hand. "Have Suoh visit Sakagaki. Make sure he knows the penalty of talking to the press."

"Of course, Asami-sama."

"Also, contact Kuroda. I want Tsukino behind bars for a long time—for his own good, of course."

"Of course, Asami-sama."

Asami was brought out of his reverie as the limo halted back by Dracaena, clubbers lining the sidewalk while obnoxious red and blue lights sliced through the darkness of night. Asami stepped out of the limo and was almost bombarded by the press—sadly, his cute photographer not one of them—before Suoh and Kirishima forced them back. Through the melee, he sought the manager of the club, his mind already set for blood when he saw the thick, red-tinted bandages already wrapped about Sudoh's torso.

Sudoh looked absolutely frightened as Asami came forward, his eyes round and trembling. He stood immediately and bowed but was stopped from falling to his knees by a gripping hand upon his shoulder.

"Asami-sama, I apologize for any disobedience. I just thought that knowing where Takaba-kun was, was the best course of—"

"Who was it?"

Sudoh looked up, uncertain and questioning, but he nodded quickly. "My men said the assassin appeared to be Takeda. I was not aware they were still in business."

They weren't the last time Asami checked. Tsukino must have helped them back onto their feet. "Where is Akihito now?"

Sudoh looked positively pissed now, and he glanced toward where his car once sat. "Where do you think? He's still after Tsukino. I think he would seek the person who offered him the scoop in the first place, don't you?"

Asami frowned and lifted his cell when rapid flashes from the photographers behind the yellow tape blinded. Frantic shouts reached his ears.

"Asami-san!"

"Do you have any comment—"

"—about your relationship with the photojournalist—"

"—Takaba Akihito?"

* * *

"You keep wandering into the wrong part of town, little cat." Sakagaki stood to showcase his towering size once more. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy my company more than Asami's."

Akihito's skin crawled at the disturbing thought, and he fought the violent shiver threatening to wrack his body. "I'm beginning to think you forgot the plastic surgery you needed after Asami thrashed you."

It was one of the few times Asami let him see the other side of his business, his lover having lured him to a high perch to watch as Asami took Sakagaki apart. Afterwards, Asami told him point-blank to use any money Asami had when speaking with Sakagaki, though he'd rather Akihito not speak to the man at all, and Akihito hadn't until the latest case because it wasn't that he particularly worried about Sakagaki. He'd learned how to handle the bastard. It was that his jaw still remembered the night Asami decide to clean his mouth of Sakagaki's come, and it ached every time he thought of it.

Akihito made sure not to step away from the doorway. "I have follow-up questions to the tip you gave me on Tsukino."

The electronic music pounded the floor from the club below, only adding to Akihito's apprehension. The darkened office reminded him of the first few times he came here, looking for another piece of information, and the money he had wasn't sufficient to Sakagaki's liking. Now, he had nowhere else to turn. He couldn't go back to Takato. Despite putting his friend and his friend's family in danger, he'd already asked too much of him. With the assassins on his back, he only had a little time before they finally managed to end him. And Sudoh…

"I imagine you haven't broken open your piggybank again, Takaba-kun." His predatorily grin widened to show his teeth, white and glistening even in the low light of the office. "You'll have to work it off."

Akihito _really_ hated having to rely on Sakagaki for information.

"You do know I'm still with Asami, right?"

"There are rumors but nothing finite, of course." He now bent down, his hairy face so close to Akihito's that Akihito could smell the beasty man's aftershave. "Nothing I couldn't deny not knowing."

"Tsukino works through imports and exports, mixing his…cargo," Akihito bit out the word, "with other companies'." He forced down the remaining bile in his throat as he forced out, "Was one of those companies Sion?"

"Oh, the little kitten has found his claws." Sakagaki rubbed his goatee along Akihito's cheek, causing him to shiver. He could hold out until he was given in the information. He had to. "Yes, Sion was at one time a client. You could have called Tsukino Asami's second-in-command. Sure, he has those goons—Kirishima and Suoh." A warm, slimy tongue tickled Akihito's already piqued skin. "But Tsukino was ruthless and rose fairly quickly to the top of Asami's ranks—that was, until Asami discovered his other deals. Hm. You smell like whiskey and cigars…and honey?"

"T-The human trafficking deals?" Akihito stammered, clutching the doorframe to keep erect. "Is that what Asami—ugh…"

Sakagaki slipped a cool hand under Akihito's shirt and drew his lips lower to lick Akihito's shivering neck. "Hmm-hmm. Asami, despite all he does, doesn't sell women and children. He might actually have human parts underneath that demon exterior of his." His decidedly long lick stole a strangled cry from Akihito. "No wonder Asami wanted Tsukino off the streets. He wants to keep you close, his own personal lollypop."

Akihito freed his body before Sakagaki's exploratory hands found his hardening nipples. "What did you just say?"

For the first time since meeting Sakagaki here, in this office, he actually saw Sakagaki tremble. Sure, he was dismissive after Akihito cried Asami's name, but even then he wasn't…scared.

Akihito pressed, "You said Asami wanted Tsukino off the streets. How do you know that?"

Sakagaki backed away from Akihito, falling onto the couch with thumping plop. He reached for the beer bottle but before he drank, Akihito took it from his hands, allowing himself a long swig, his demanding eyes never looking away from Sakagaki's.

When he finally breathed, he asked in a sweet, cajoling voice. "Who gave you the information about the mail fraud, Sakagaki-san?"

Sakagaki's massive hands cupped about Akihito's waist, his curling fingers digging into Akihito's supple cheeks. "All information comes for a price, doesn't it, Takaba-kun?"

Akihito steeled his heart and straddled Sakagaki, his teeth grinding against one another as Sakagaki's implacable fingers clenched about Akihito's cheeks, checking the bounce of his backside.

"Who gave you the tip, Sakagaki-san? Who told you to give it to me?"

Sakagaki's sticky tongue found his jaw again, slicking a line of spit from Akihito's ear to his chin, tongue pressing against the dimple just below Akihito's lower lip. "Kiss me, and I think the information might slip out."

Akihito's lip curved in a delightful grin, and Sakagaki jerked, his body pulsating in a violent fit of tremors. He collapsed to the side on the couch, and Akihito climbed off of him, gasps of air escaping his mouth. He clicked off the Taser and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. He made sure to never leave home without it.

Akihito only had a few minutes before Sakagaki would awaken, and he wanted to be long gone before that happened, perhaps scrubbing his body with rubbing alcohol by then. He headed toward the filing cabinet, clicking on his keychain flashlight and going through the files as quickly as he could. Nothing but bills and event contracts. Really? A man who dabbled in all Sakagaki did should have at least a few incriminating documents where Akihito could find them.

A electronic sound of the latest Ai tune claimed the silent office, and Akihito rolled his eyes, muttering, "Really, Sakagaki? Perv."

He found the phone easily in Sakagaki's pocket and moved to click it off when he saw the caller's number. Anger and hurt fought in his gut, and he swiped on the phone.

"Sakagaki?" Asami asked, his voice slightly hesitant and yet forceful. "Sakagaki, this better not be a—"

Akihito pinched his nostrils between his thumb and forefinger. "Thank you for calling Sakagaki's phone, but he's unable to take your call right now. If you wish to leave a message, FUCK OFF!"

"Akihito." Asami sounded relieved, letting out the tiniest of sighs. "You should have known better than to visit that low life—"

"How could you?" he grated, his voice low and accusatory. "After everything we've been together—you know what it was like for me to rebuild my life after Hong Kong, after Sudoh. Yet, you deliberately fed information to Sakagaki to give to me, knowing that I'd put Tsukino away for you."

The pregnant pause was unexpected, and when Asami spoke, his usually cold voice was tame. "Perhaps I was wrong, but you were searching for him anyway. I wanted him out of the picture, too, and I know how much you hate when I steal your scoop. It only seemed natural to let you take Tsukino down."

"You _used_ me, like you use everyone else around you." He couldn't believe he spoke like this, couldn't believe the searing that tore through his heart and sped his breathing. "Like I'm nothing more than a _thing_ to you, like Sudoh, like Kuroda. I'm not one of your minions you can just place on the chess board and move as you please, Ryuichi! I won't be that!"

"And you're not," Asami defended. "But the way I would have ended Tsukino's business, you wouldn't have approved, and it would have only been a matter of time before you found out the truth. I wasn't going to let it jeopardize everything we are."

"And what exactly is that? Master and pet? Owner and toy? Because we're sure as hell aren't partners." He grimaced at the weakness that broke his harsh tone.

"I've always held your freedom in the palm of my hand, Akihito. Nothing has changed."

"No, that's where you're wrong. Everything has."

Exasperation made Asami's voice bitter. "The status of our relationship, we'll determine later. There are…developments we need to discuss, Akihito."

"Like Tsukino's assassin? Or the person following us?" Akihito laughed. "It shouldn't be so hard for the great Asami Ryuichi to figure out who that is. Only two people knew I was going to be at the club, and Takato wouldn't expose us."

Thunderous footsteps pounded the stairs.

Silence greeted his remarks. Could he have actually offended Asami? Akihito smirked as he made quick work of the Sakagaki's holster and gun. He fired three shots, shattering the farthest window of the office. "So, what are you going to do about _that_? Lock me up, so the world can't find me? Put me in a glass trophy case? You must know you can't. I'll break it!"

"What are _you_ going to do, Akihito? Run? How far do you think you'll get from me?" Dark amusement slithered through Asami's smooth voice.

"Just how far are you willing to go to recapture me, _Asami-san_?"

"To the end of the abyss, _Akihito_."

The men broke through Sakagaki's office door then, Suoh, Nakamura, and a few others Akihito recognized as Asami's. Akihito fired back at them, forcing them to retreat into the hallway. "Then I'll see you there!"

He threw the phone and blasted it with one shot before diving into the open Shibuya air.

* * *

"I'm coming! I'm coming!"

Akihito allowed his frustration to bleed into his banging upon the apartment door, and when it swung open with a frustrated "WHAT!" he chucked the sunglasses at the disgruntled Mitarai.

"Missing these?"

He followed through with a crushing punch, staggering Mitarai back into his messy, studio apartment. Mitarai tripped over the empty ramen cups and dirty jeans, clutching his seemingly broken and now leaking appendage. His dog ran from behind the futon, barking and growling until he noticed the attacker to be Akihito. He happily bounced forward, licking Akihito's clenched and quivering fist.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Akihito accused, his tone sharp enough to pierce.

Mitarai mumbled through his watering eyes and covered nose. "What the fuck was that for?"

"You think you can investigate me? Really? Are you serious?"

He glowered toward his dog, who whined at Akihito's side, wanting attention. "Traitor."

"Me or the dog?"

"Both," Mitarai fumbled for a rag in the overstuffed kitchen sink and pressed it to his nose. "Don't point your finger at me. You're the one living with a crime lord—hell, the guy gave you scoops because of your relationship—"

"I didn't ask for them, and I didn't know that until today!"

"And you think that makes it okay? You're an investigative photojournalist, Takaba-kun. A decorated one. You're supposed to know from where your information comes. You don't get to be righteous when you're wallowing in filth with the enemy."

"I'm not wallowing," Akihito defended as Mitarai winced, touching the edge of his still red nose. Akihito rolled his eyes before pulling out a chair from the table and offering it to Mitarai. "Here. Sit."

As he opened the freezer and cracked an ice-cube tray, he wondered, "So it was you who stole my Sion card, huh?"

"As evidence. I'd give it back to you now, but it was taken from my wallet. Apparently, that's a hard place to get into."

"Yeah, well, you don't deserve to. You're no better than me. You can't tell me you just discovered Ryuichi's and my relationship. Someone tipped you off about it."

"So what if they did?" He accepted the ice-filled towel with a grumbled, "Thanks."

"Then you're being played just like I was. There's an agenda behind this, and you're just part of the—"

"Oh, come on. You're living with the freakin' enemy, Takaba."

"Who gave me a tip to put away a human trafficker, Mitarai. Tell me, which crime is worse here? You exposing me for living with a 'suspected' crime lord or me taking a tip from him to _save_ people?"

Mitarai stared up at Akihito without prejudice, his eyes wide but calm, and finally broke the gaze, shame tugging upon his face. "You're lucky that was the tip he gave you. It could have been much worse."

"Yes, it could have, and I don't think he would." Sighing, Akihito tugged out another seat and plopped down, resting his elbows upon his thighs. "I don't think he would. Ryuichi has this own moral code. He's not an angel by any means, but he's not selling women and kids. I never thought he would interfere…but he did. And I should have researched more." He clasped his hands, his head ducked in his own admission of guilt. "Asami manipulates to suit his own desires. I shouldn't have assumed he would never use me."

"Well," Mitarai added with a shrug and a quick glance over his shoulder. "It's not something you'll have to worry about again, is it?"

Dread flooded Akihito's gut, and he slowly straightened his back to accuse, "What did you do?"

Akihito's life as he knew it ended with one click.

Condemning pictures were splattered upon every news outlet, thrown up like tabloid photos of celebrities in compromising positions, and he and Asami were suddenly no different. Pictures of him and Asami outside the back of Sion. Of him coming out Asami's condo building. Of them behind the gentlemen's club earlier that night even, Asami's hand cradling his cheek. The more damning ones had Akihito in Asami's arms, their lips feverishly clinging to each other. There was even a picture after Asami and he had met at Sion, Asami laying upon Akihito in the limo before the door was shut.

Their relationship was open for all of Asami's enemies to devour and conceive an attack, for all Akihito's bosses to read and print their response, apologizing for their lack of oversight. No, this _was_ the response, Akihito horrifyingly noticed. _The Weekly Edition_ had been the original source. This publicity was nothing short of a message to the journalism world that the paper can police its own journalists and make sure its news is the finest and most honest in Japan.

_Really?_ Akihito thought sardonically. _They didn't even call me for a comment._

His fists shook at his thigh as the ramification crashed down upon his shoulders, but he couldn't deal with all quite yet. There was work to be done. Tsukino still needed to be put away, and he would make sure that was done, target on his back or not.

Finally, he muttered, his cheeks soaked with melancholic tears, "Who hired you?"

Mitarai offered his latest check without hesitation. It was signed by Kuroda Shinji.

To Be Continued…


	4. TA is Separated from AR

**Disclaimer: ** These characters belong to Yamane Ayano, not me.

**Author's Note:** Special thanks to Eprime for Motoko and Crash Tuesday for the beta.

"**The Hardest Thing"**

**Chapter Four – Takaba Akihito is Separated from Asami Ryuichi.**

The warm, soothing steam of the gym shower caressed the tension from Akihito's aching muscles, and he surrendered to its comforting embrace, tipping his forehead against the sweaty tiles. It seemed longer than forty-eight hours since he confessed his love to Asami, enjoyed his touch, indulged in the opulence of Asami's world—not just the physical features but also the insatiable romance. Who would have ever thought a crime lord would be so attentive to a lover?

But Akihito wasn't a lover, at least not in Asami's eyes, Akihito thought bitterly as he scrubbed his sodden mop, the black rinse pooling at the drain before slipping through the holes. After their last conversation where Asami asserted his claim of Akihito's ownership again, Akihito couldn't deny the persistent fear that clawed into his belly and mixed with the icy coldness of truth. When Akihito thought about Asami's words, dissected them for their true meeting, he couldn't help but agree with Asami, especially now.

For the first time in almost eighteen months, he was completely alone whereas Asami assigned guards to observe his every move (for his own protection, he'd been told). He now covered news Asami fed to him. He cooked Asami's meals and waited on his bed, like a good little pet. When Asami didn't come home on time, he waited on the couch. He enjoyed the man's touch, craved it when they were separated for long periods of time, and he accepted treats and rewards, like the hotel room and dinner, suits and socks. Perhaps Asami even fixed the SAJA Award voting.

The rushing water washed away the stinging tears from his closed eyes, and Akihito pressed his back against the wall. Now, he was guaranteed to return to Asami for preservation. The rival families would attack him to get at Asami, and despite however good he was at evading his opposition, he knew a lost cause when he saw it. But he wouldn't be the dutiful little pet who came bounding to his owner when called. No, he could still bring Tsukino to justice, and apparently, he would have help. When Kou delivered him a change of clothes (a T-shirt, jacket, jeans, and sneakers) along with one of his less than finest camera, he also conveyed a message he'd received from Kuroda Shinji via Mitarai, asking for a meet.

"The case can still be closed," Kuroda said.

Akihito knew their meeting would come sooner or later. There was no way he would let the man who ruined his life get away with it, but when they would speak, it would be on his terms. Sometime ago, he sent a text message from a burner phone to the only person he knew could ever hope to rival Asami, who would know anything about Asami's organization and actually tell him.

"What can you tell me about Kuroda?" Akihito had written.

The cymbal text resounded through the clamoring of the shower water, and Akihito gaped at the single line reply.

* * *

"Whoo-hoo!" Akihito exclaimed, his arm thrown up and catching the wind through the open moon roof of Asami's sparkling new Nissan 370z. Asami found himself grinning—his mouth actually forming the enthusiastic expression—as he enjoyed his young lover's excitement. The luxury car zipped through the tight streets of Shibuya, and at this time in the morning, most people had already vacated the streets, allowing Akihito to reach speeds normally unthinkable in the busy populous.

"When you're going into your next turn, disable the traction control, and press the brake halfway to the floor while tapping the gas."

Akihito's bright eyes glowed in the dark cabin, the lively lights of the city center splashing color upon his usually pale face. His wicked grin was positively infectious, and he turned both upon Asami, the older man's heart couldn't help but squeeze with a longing twinge.

"I can't believe _you're_ teaching me how to drift. I can't believe you even know how to drift. You're always driven like royalty or something."

"That's only so I can conduct business when need be—or so I can molest you without fear of you kicking the clutch."

Despite the lovely shade of scarlet now coloring Akihito's cheeks, he followed Asami's directions perfectly, the locked wheels offering a silence-tearing screech to awake the masses. The faint stench of burning rubber wafted into the cabin until it was gone with a simple shift of the gears.

"So how did you learn how to drift?" Akihito asked, eyes finding him every few seconds.

Asami leaned back in the seat, his neck tie missing, his once crisp sleeves rolled to his elbows. "When I was at the university, it was a good source of income."

"Driving?"

"When necessary. It was how I met Kirishima."

Akihito's eyebrows shot up. "Kirishima used to drive? No way!"

"He used to arrange the races and distribute the money."

Akihito's surprised laughter filled the cabin, and he shifted again as the car propelled onto a ramp and up onto an elevated highway. "He was a bookie? Damn. Wasn't there a time in your lives when you weren't criminals?"

Asami petted Akihito's bare shoulder, his warm fingers exploring the toned contours of Akihito's skin. The tiny shiver and lustful gaze were simple encouragement the boy didn't know he projected, and Asami leaned over, his wet lips skimming Akihito's lobe. "When I was five, I used to run a snack ring at preschool."

"What? You didn't give kids swirlies in the bathroom and steal their lunch money?" His breathless voice hardly befell upon Asami's ears.

"Only if they didn't pay their debts."

Akihito stifled a sensual moan, though Asami felt the stirring vibrations as his lips kneaded his lover's throat. His opposing hand slid down Akihito's toned and quivering stomach to pop his jean button.

"Ah-h, Ryuichi! I'm driving!"

"And without a proper license. My mother warned me about the dangers of dating a bad boy."

"S-Stop! Ryuichi, I can't—"

Two slides of Asami's fingers teased Akihito's cock to life, the blood-rushing thrill and erotic excitement hardening the member at an embarrassing pace. Asami rubbed his thumb across the slit, and he smiled as Akihito's breaths exploded from his mouth with absolute need. He almost stopped when the car jerked, but then Akihito's fingers slipped through his silken strands, a subtle but true reassurance.

He smiled as he took Akihito into his mouth, his own cock thickening with painful acuteness. The boy could only be stubborn for so long before he gave into the carnal urges, his sexual pleasure overriding any of his mental struggles. Asami licked the hilt of Akihito's cock, brushing his fingers through the small patch of black hair above it and marveling about the tiny secret they shared of the boy's true hair color. His fingers worked in perfect rhythm with his clutching lips, rubbing the sensitive skin between Akihito's balls as he sucked the firming flesh of the rod. Akihito's hands tightened in his hair, and he murmured, "Ryu…Ryu…I can't…Don't…"

The tires squealed against the payment, and Asami's stomach lightened as the car left the roadway.

Even after three months, Asami could still feel the weightless tingling in his stomach, the remnants of the sinful smile stealing his lips. The car had been totaled, Akihito having lost control. It slammed into the side of the tree, the metallic frame torn from the cage on the left hand side.

Asami didn't mind. He bought the car for Akihito, had wanted to give the boy something of value when he neither asked nor wanted anything more than Asami's attention and affection. The one person he wanted to shower with gifts and money, he could not, so a part of him felt it was poetic justice that the car had been destroyed before it became a point of contention in their relationship.

But the delicious memory remained, for which Asami was grateful. That, too, was what he loved about Akihito. The boy was his complement. He met every challenge Asami set. He delved into every one of Asami's sadistic pleasure with his own enthusiasm. He might sputter and complain, but his moans would eventually wash them away. And yet, he was sweet. And kind. And even after his time with Feilong, with other men, he still only came alive for Asami.

"Kirishima," Asami called, his eyes focused out his window at the dark Shinjuku streets. They were packed at this primetime of night. "Is Nissan still making the 370z?"

A brief search gave the answer, "Yes, sir. They'll roll out the new model next month."

"Order one. Solid red. Have it customized for optimum drifting."

Kirishima chucked as he typed into his phone. "Are you getting back in your original business? I remember your last ordeal ended rather favorably but luckily."

Asami smirked at his own reflection in the office window, his mind reeling at all the possibilities he could do with a seat belt. "After this ordeal, I might need a new profession. Best to keep my skills sharp in all areas."

A shrill beep turned Asami's head, and Kirishima slipped his phone into his pocket. "Nakahara is here with the car, sir."

"Good." He pulled his jacket from the back of his chair and slipped his arms through his sleeves. "Have our men investigate the source of the news article. I doubt Akihito's colleague from _The Weekly Edition_ did this without a financial backer."

"It wouldn't have been Tsukino." The elevator dinged, and they entered swiftly. "He was hoping to sell the information."

"Which is all the more reason why we must find Akihito now. Tsukino will use any means necessary to get what he wants." An image of his broken lover after Akihito's last encounter with Tsukino flashed through his mind, and he twirled an unlit cigarette about his fingers, waiting for the lobby to arrive.

As they exited the elevator, Kirishima offered his boss a light, the lobby exit less than fifty feet away. "Perhaps we should discover who knew about your relationship with Takaba. I know we released rumors to protect the boy, but whoever did this needed to know specifics."

"True. Is Suoh still with Sakagaki? Perhaps he can lean a little on—"

"Asami-san."

The curt but firm voice spoke with a detective's confidence and a teacher's condescension, accosting them right outside the lobby's exit. Asami turned toward the man who wore an off-the-rack trench coat and Payless loafers. He lifted up a golden badge that shined when it caught the bright lighting of the streets.

"Detective Shimizu, Tokyo Police. May we have a few moments of your time?"

Though it was a question, the man didn't pose it as one. Asami narrowed his eyes and took a deep drag. "Concerning what, Detective?"

"Your knowledge of Tsukino and his illegal dealings. According to the report in _The Weekly Edition_, you were the original source of Takaba Akihito's article and photos."

"I believed one of my employees was involved in illegal activities, and I gave the information to someone whom I knew would handle it discreetly and uncover the truth." Kirishima opened the door to the towncar as they came to the edge of the sidewalk. "There isn't more to it than that, Detective."

"If we can prove in any way you knew and even facilitated the human trafficking ring—"

"You won't because I didn't." Asami blew out a stream of puffy smoke, his irritation evident on his hardened face. "And if I did know more about that, I assure you, I would have given Takaba the information."

"Don't think we don't know what you did." Shimizu snarled, his top lip arcing high to show his teeth. "You think you can just use the media—Takaba-kun—for your own prerogative? If that boy doesn't know who you are and what you do by now, then he one day will. And when he does, he'll tear you apart with his viewfinder."

Asami stopped before stepping into the limo and turned to see the man's sharp eyes fuming with barely unleashed rage. He started at the man's protectiveness but ultimately wasn't surprised. Akihito had the ability to wrap people around his finger with his genuine naivety and open-hearted nature.

"I can only hope. He is vicious little wildcat when he wants to be, isn't he? Now, if you have no further questions…" He stepped inside the car, and as Kirishima slammed shut the door, Shimizu rose his voice to shout.

"You won't get away with it, Asami-san! You think you're playing him? Most likely, that kid is playing you!"

Asami snorted and drew another cigarette from his pocket. He might have believed that if Akihito didn't wear his emotions on his face with as clear a message as a billboard's, and what he said a few days ago ran true. Takaba Akihito was finally his—body, heart, and soul, and despite their little lovers' "spat," Asami knew Akihito would be back. Like a little wandering kitten, he could never stay away from his master's side for long.

"Asami-sama," Kirishima interrupted his ponderous thoughts. "Our men said Eto contacted someone at the Russian Embassy late last night following our…discussion with him."

Asami lit another cigarette unhurriedly and allowed the smoke to lazily lift out of his mouth. "Hm. I wondered when Mikhail would finally show. Put in a call to our contact. Patch it through immediately once they return it."

"Of course, Asami-sama."

Asami enjoyed another long drag, glancing out the window at the bustling city. If Tsukino or Eto had ties to someone as powerful as Mikhail, then he needed find Akihito quickly. He wanted his lover back alive, and if anyone dared to touch him, Asami would paint the town red with his own gun and dagger.

* * *

Winter's cold breath whipped through the caverns of Shinjuku's streets, rushing away the once warming nights of autumn, and Kuroda wrapped his scarf tighter about his slender neck, though his building was less than a block away. Perhaps the coldness of night wasn't the reason for his sudden tremors. He could only imagine the harsh brunt of Asami's fury. Kuorda had seen the thin edge of Asami's patience only a few times, the latest during that debacle he called "The Hong Kong Incident." He'd only been notified by phone, in passing, no less, when Asami said he would need help procuring the passport of a young journalist. Kuroda hadn't even heard of Takaba Akihito before that, and what he saw seemed to make little sense. Why would the crime lord of Tokyo go to Hong Kong for a boy who couldn't even be perceived as a threat, let alone an asset?

"I'm not asking, Shinji-_kun_."

Of course, he wasn't. Asami never asked. He demanded, perhaps commanded on the lightest of assignments, and when he added the "kun," like Kuroda was six all over again, it made him chaff at the chain about his own neck, leashing him back to Asami.

Sighing, Kuroda took the lift to the high floor and managed to get to his condo with only a handful of yawns. With any luck, Asami wouldn't discover his part in the destruction of Takaba Akihito's career until at least tomorrow, so he could get a decent night's rest, but he wouldn't be given any such luck. When he opened the door to the darkened living room, the light from the hallway slithered across a figure reclining in one of his comfier chairs that was made this century.

Kuroda froze, his slightly trembling hand still gripping the key in the lock. "Uh…Asami-sama…I…I didn't think you'd be here so soon…"

The figure moved, and he belatedly saw the relieving sight of jeans flopped over the armrest. "Ryuichi might be a criminal mastermind, but he's no match for a reporter with a target."

Kuroda lifted the sliding switch to slowly brighten the lights so as not to blind either of them. Akihito sat in his loveseat with one leg flung over the armrest, a digital camera sitting upon his stomach. He wore his usual jeans, sneakers, T-shirt, and jacket, and though Kuroda wished he could see the twenty-five-year-old punk with a brashness only Asami could love, he saw a hurt child with bright, condemning eyes stricken with turmoil, uncertainty, and of course, indignant anger.

"I'm not worthy to be your boss's partner, huh? Or am I not worthy to be your _brother's_ partner?"

Kuroda shrugged out of his rumbled trench coat and slammed his condo door behind him, his sharp eyes glowing behind his dark frames. "Breaking and entering is against the law. I could have you arrested."

"But you won't." Akihito crossed the one ankle over the other, resituating his head upon a throw pillow. "One breath of your betrayal to Ryu, and I'll be making Kuroda-flavored hot pot next dinner."

"You think you can blackmail me?"

"No. Contrary to whatever you believe, I don't run to Ryuichi to fight my battles. This is between you and me, so I'm going to kick your ass, and then we're going to finish this case."

Akihito stood then, his fists raised to the still crossed-armed Kuroda, and he mocked fighter's punches at the stoic man's face. "So how do you want to do this? UFA or WWE style?"

Kuroda rolled his eyes and strode past Akihito toward the wet-bar in the corner, a staple in any politician or criminal's living room in Shinjuku. "You are a child in a man's world. Perhaps if you grew up—"

"Is that why you did it?" Akihito asked, breathless and serious. His usually fiery eyes were calm with a stunning mix of resignation and bewilderment. "You said I would never survive in Asami's world, so you did it to kill me? To rid your brother of me forever?"

"Contrary to your belief," Kuroda said only after a sip of whiskey and appreciative sigh, "I don't want you dead. As I told you earlier, my brother needs you. I normally hesitate to use the word 'love,' but I believe it is appropriate in this instance. The only way to insure that you would end your dangerous career, your _damaging_ career against my brother and his world and cement your place at his side, was to reveal your relationship with Ryuichi. Of course, I told that thick-headed Mitarai to hold off on revealing your identity until _after_ Tsukino was back in jail, but people in your profession have this thing about not being able to keep a secret."

Akihito glanced away, his hands cupping his elbows, and when he turned back, he pinned Kuroda with an icy glare. "It wasn't your place to do what you did. I don't like relying on your brother. I'm a man, too. I have pride, and I'm good at what I do, despite your brother's recent interference."

A longer sip. "I know that. I wouldn't work with you if you weren't, but that doesn't mean your job doesn't put my brother in danger. You never thought of that, did you?"

"Constantly," Akihito pierced. "You presume you love your brother more than I do, and you're wrong. When I was held prisoner by Feilong, I worried daily about Ryuichi. Wondered if he was even alive. I—I thought I would never see him again, never hold him, never know the truth buried deep in his heart but shimmering his eyes, so don't sit there on your high horse, making judgments like you're a god or something. Because you know _nothing_ about what I feel for Ryuichi and what he feels for me."

Kuroda hardened his already harsh glower, his frown deepening, as he sought the Shinjuku skyline. He could see most of it, buried behind a rather large row buildings. Perhaps he didn't know the intimacies of his brother's and Akihito's relationship, but he knew a train wreck when he saw it. He needed to detour it before it crashed. He owed it to his brother who always protected him, and after all, as D.A., wasn't it his job to reveal the truth, even about matters such as this? If Takaba Akihito truly loved his brother, then it wouldn't matter that he lost his job. He'd find comfort in Asami's embrace.

The silence stretched for what seemed like hours before Akihito dropped his hands to his thighs with a snap. "And thank you, by the way. Your brother has gone full possessive-slash-territorial all over my ass. Y'know, when he finds me again, I'm not going to walk—ever."

"Can you blame him?" Kuroda shrugged. "You were taken by Feilong for a night. Then, you were taken by him for more than a month. Then that stalker wanted to stake his claim. And let's not forget that you swallowed all of Sakagaki's—"

"Hey!" A fierce blush deepened Akihito's cheeks, and that fiery glint of stubborn pride resurfaced in Akihito's eyes. "I deep-throated Sakagaki for your brother, okay?"

"Because of your insecurities."

"Thanks to people like you who scream at me at every whim how unworthy I am of your brother.  
The persistent blush spread and darkened until his entire face was a lovely shade of scarlet. "And by the way, my jaw hurt for days after Ryuichi found out. I was eating through a straw. And he saw the picture Sakagaki took and decided to take his own with my camera-in all different angles with his own fetishes."

Kuroda finished in drink—half the glass—in one, swift gulp. His face contorted with the lovely sting of liquor. "That...I did not need to know about my brother."

"Hey! You brought it up!" Akihito laughed nervously. "But yeah, I could tell as it came out. I was feeling the TMI."

Well, this would most likely be his brother-in-law soon, and his brother did teach him manners after all. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please," the boy begged. "Irish."

"So, who was your source for the original photos?" Ten minutes later, they huddled about Kuroda's coffee table, Akihito's and his notes spread around it.

"My friend Takato originally tipped me off. He works for Normura Holdings as an IT professional. He came across a document on one of the high exc's computer linking Tskukino and one of Normura's clients with the human trafficking ring." He showed Kuroda the document before reaching for a set of notes. "I was able to confirm this through Sakagaki, but he wouldn't give me the information on the human trafficking, only Tsukino's whereabouts and some mail fraud scheme, which I now know came from your brother." He handed Kuroda a second paper. "I was able to use some of the addresses on the documents Takato sent me to narrow down a winery in Shibuya with ties to Tsukino, but the night Mitarai and I were investigating, was the night Tsukino was released. We saw they were delivering goods illegally, but they weren't the missing people."

"So we need a new lead on Tsukino. If we find him, we can find where he's holding his victims for shipment overseas and maybe even his shipping lines."

Akihito nodded. "About these victims—many were waiters and waitresses. A few were independent hostesses. A few more prostitutes. Even some were arcade frequenters."

Kuroda ran a well-manicured finger down the list of names. "People no one would miss." Akihito opened his mouth, but Kuroda cut off his protest. "No one with money or influence would miss. Some of the arcade players were even teenagers, the slime bucket."

"Plus a million fiery bags of poo on your doorstep."

Kuroda glanced up, his stern eyes glaring at Akihito over his frames. "You thought that was a wild night during your teenage years, didn't you?"

Akihito flashed a cheeky grin. "Teenage years?"

Kuroda's mirror-image smile quickly fell from his face quickly as he cleared his throat and tightened his tie and dignity. He couldn't be going soft with Akihito now, but damn, he could see how easily the boy wiggled his way into people's lives. No, that was wrong. From what he heard from Ryuichi, Akihito blasted into his brother's life, and fate or destiny refused to let him leave. Somehow, he was beginning to think Ryuichi was wrong. Ryuichi refused to let Akihito go.

Taking a quick sip of his tea, Kuroda skimmed the names that had no faces but still tore his heart. "Do you have a list of the places they worked or frequented?"

"Um…yeah." Akihito shifted through the pages before finding a print out with rainbow highlighted lines. "Here you go. Similar colors designate a recurring place of work."

A stab of an icy panic sliced through Kuroda and left his skin cold and clammy. "Is—Is this true? Are you sure these are the places the people worked and the teens?"

"Yeah." Akihito's eyes shimmered with honest concern. "What's wrong?"

"Ryuichi owns are all these places."

* * *

The tea house was private and independently owned, neither Asami nor his "date" being willing to visit any place owned by the other. It wasn't the best place. In fact, it was debatable who made worse tea—Akihito or this barista—but he waited patiently, reading through a few of Kirishima's spreadsheets. When the man dressed in a pair of jeans and sports coat sat down, he took a generous sip of the tea before clinking the cup against the saucer.

"Ooh, the silent treatment, Ryuichi. You must be burning inside. Perhaps we could roast some beef, get some potatoes… "

Asami glanced up from his iPad, his narrowed eyes scrutinizing the man who wore an easy smile. "Mikhail. Don't misunderstand my generosity."

"Generosity? No offense, but the tea sucks."

"You're still alive. I'd call that generous." He placed down the iPad and resituated his stance upon the chair, his frown intensifying. "Tsukino Kiyoshi has been using your companies to smuggle people out of Tokyo for his human trafficking business. I knew you were low, but this…?"

Mikhail laughed, sitting back in his chair, draping an arm over the back. "Oh, Ryuichi. Sure, I can take care of those businesses. All you had to do was ask, but really? Pointing fingers at me when you should be looking at your own business practices. Tsk. Tsk. Poor manners."

Asami took a sip of the tea, his face growing even grimer. "I will deal with Tsukino in time, but he wouldn't even be a problem if he wasn't using your lines for distribution."

"And he wouldn't even have enough power to lick our Italian loafers if you hadn't taken him from the streets and made him into a formable opponent. Hm." A mischievous glint slid through his amused gaze. "I'm beginning to see a pattern. Feilong. Tsukino. Even that little kitten Takaba. Could it be that you have a soft spot for strays, Ryuichi? Or do you just like to pet them once in a while?"

"Jealous, Mikhail?" Asami sat back to level the man with an appraising gaze. "I thought you were above that."

"I might be jealous if you were my type, but then again, I've been known to stray myself every so often." He leaned forward, resting his elbows upon the table. "So tell me. What it is about these…pets that lures the mysterious Asami?"

Asami cocked a baiting grin. "You'd call Feilong one of my pets? I wouldn't in his presence."

"Well, seeing as he's taken to one of your former men and detached his claws from your cute bedwarmer, I think it's a pretty accurate assessment."

"Perhaps," Asami conceded as his cell phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He slipped it out smoothly, aware that all the security men about him tensed for a brief moment, and his heart thumped an extra beat when he recognized the number.

"I have to take this, but just so we're clear. Shut down those businesses, Mikahil."

"Consider it done, and just so _we're_ clear, I didn't know your pup was using them. I'll look into it on my side as a personal favor to you, one I hope you will return in the future."

Asami didn't hesitate, simply nodded, an agreement between equals, before standing swiftly and quitting the room. As he stepped out into the dark alley, he clicked on the phone, "Takaba-san. It is always a pleasure to hear from you. I hope all is well in Yokohama."

"Ryuichi! What have you done with my son?"

Ah, Akihito's mother. She would be the more concerned of the two. "I assure you, Akihito is fine. I haven't seen him tonight as of yet, but as soon as I do—"

"The news, Ryuichi. I saw you and him all over the news, and the things they say about you—I can't fathom. I can't even…"

The distress in her voice was more than disconcerting, though he could, in some sense, empathize. Akihito didn't even know the true blackness in Asami's heart, but he saw enough and still accepted Asami. His parents, however, had a less intense attachment to the man they thought they knew, a man they thought would protect their son, and now for them to see him upon TV as not just a criminal but a suspected crime lord, could force them to take drastic action in what they would perceive as a safety measure for their son.

So Asami met Kirishima's eyes for a moment's time, allowing perhaps a little of his concern to show about the edges of his usually perfect mask, before looking away. "I am a man of virtue and moral but uphold a code of conduct to which you do not prescribe, but that does not mean I do not care for your son very deeply. He is aware that perhaps I am not as…transparent as I seem, but he—"

"WHERE IS HE?" his mother demanded, tears evident in her shaky voice. "I've tried to reach him numerous times, but he won't pick up his phone and—and what have you done with him? You—You didn't take any of his fingers, did you?"

The always appreciated cigarette appeared before him, Kirishima dipping the end into a brillant flame. "Takaba-san, I do not partake in such crude and grotesque measures with any of my employees, and I would especially not with my lover. At this moment, I, too, don't know where Akihito is. He ditched his cell phone earlier because he knows I can track him by it, and he still wants to close his most recent case before returning to my side."

"Asami-san…" Her use of his title hurt more than she would know, especially since he remembered dinner less than two weeks ago at the Takabas' house in Yokohama. Akihito's family showed him a domestic warmth and familial acceptance he hadn't felt in a long time, that he didn't know he craved until he had it and now feared he would lose. It was a disturbing thought he did not wish to follow.

"…please…" she practically begged, the tears fierce now, drowning her voice in woe. "Please…he's our only son. Please don't hurt him. He—He…"

"—is currently being sought by my best men, Takaba-san. I assure you, he will be found tonight and protected from any and all enemies who will wish him ill will." Softer, so only she could hear, he added, "You have nothing to fear from me. I swear to you, no harm will come to your son, not by me or anyone, not as long as I am alive. I will always protect him with my life."

The sniffles were muffled through the phone, but she heard them just the same. "Why? Why would you do that, especially for someone who works to bring down criminals…?"

He still heard the added "like you," though he was grateful she didn't speak the words.

The answer was firm and honest, spoken after a long, relaxing drag. "I love your son, Takaba-san. Perhaps in the near future, you, your husband and I could discuss a more…permanent solution to this problem."

Akihito's mother seemed to take solace in his unwavering conviction, and once he ended the call, Kirishima met him with another cigarette. "Suoh called. The men watching Takaba's friend Takato observed something peculiar."

Asami furled a quizzical eyebrow.

"Kuroda visited Takato's condo earlier this evening."

* * *

"Takato won't want to help you. He originally came to me with this information, and being a source in a story, especially one with a human trafficker…he just had a daughter. It scares him."

"And it doesn't scare you?"

"…I'm…lucky," Akihito had said earlier, his usually animated face solemn with the seriousness of truth weighing down his lips. "I mean, you know what happened with Feilong, but…it could have been worse. I had your brother there for me, and I know he will always come for me. I can't say the same for someone like Takato."

So when Kuroda knocked on the modest apartment's door, he wasn't surprised by the scrutinizing eyes of a young man who blanched at the sight of his tailored suit and high-end trench coat. "..may I help you?"

Kuroda resituated his glasses and cleared his throat. "Yes, actually. Takaba Akihito sent me. He said you could help us on a case we were investigating." He bowed slightly, though he would have abstained usually from doing so for a working class man such as the one before him, if he didn't need the valuable information. "I am Kuroda Shinji. I'm the D.A. in Shinjuku."

"Oh." Palpable relief washed over Takato, and he bowed quickly before stepping to the side. "Please. Come in."

Kuroda entered with a duck of his neck and was marveled by the warmth the small apartment possessed. Stuffed bunnies and playmats and rattles littered the floor of the living room and even occupied much of the computer desk that was tucked in the corner. The galley kitchen had a window that opened to the living room, where formula and nibbling food presided on the counter. A modest, flatscreen TV hung high upon the wall, but directly below it, a mantle-type shelf showcased the loving family with pictures of Takato, his wife, their child, in-laws, and of course, friends. Kuroda noticed Akihito and another young man, this one with darker hair, in some of the photos. The others, especially the family portraits, Kuroda could tell where taken by Akihito himself.

"Honey? Who was at the door?" a youthful, feminine voice called from the back. She bounced a baby upon her chest when she entered, tired but charming, a warm smile upon her face as she bowed to Kuroda. "Oh, hello."

Kuroda bowed. "Good evening. I apologize for the interruption."

"Oh, no problem at all…"

"Kuroda."

"He's an acquaintance of Takaba's, Motoko."

"Really?" her nose crinkled slightly as her penetrating gaze dissected his tidy attire and well-kept features. "Kuroda-san, you appear more like an acquaintance of Asami-san's."

"I am that as well, yes," he replied with a brief chuckle.

"It's horrible what they've been saying about him on the news." She petted the baby's short, black hair, tickling the edges. "They make him out to sound like some criminal mastermind."

Kuroda shrugged. "Men of extraordinary power and wealth have many enemies."

"Motoko," Takato interjected, stepping between his wife and Kuroda. "Perhaps you could put the baby back to bed. Kuroda and I must—"

"Oh, honey. Perhaps Kuroda-san would like some tea. Have you even offered him any?"

"I'm fine," Kuroda assured, "but thank you."

Motoko bowed and excused herself but not before she flashed a condemning look at Takato. With a heaved sigh, Takato turned back toward Kuroda, ruffling the back of his hair. "Sorry about that. Um…is there a reason why Akihito sent you here? Look, I told him I had to be an anonymous source."

"And you are. I'm not here to convince you to take the stand. I'm here because Akihito told me you can get a list of places where Tsukino does business."

Takato growled as he busied his hands by picking up the miscellaneous toys. "Look, I told Akihito it's risky for me. I'm an IT guy, not a spy or anything."

"Spies aren't extraordinary people, Takato-san. They are people who do good because they need to. As I understand it, you came to Takaba first, not he you."

Takato chucked the toys into the play pen, seemingly becoming even more frustrated with every squeak. "I've given Akihito the heads up and one of Tsukino's business partners. I'm beginning to think he's not very good at his job."

Kuroda accepted the flippant remark in stride. "It isn't easy to do your job when your lover is the powerful man in Tokyo. It even becomes harder when it's revealed that you're his lover, and your job is to reveal the dirty laundry of such men."

He blinked in shock at his own words. Did he just stick up for Takaba?

Takato paused and slowly turned his wide, questioning eyes upon Kuroda. "Are you—Are you telling me everything they're saying on the news is true?"

"Well, perhaps not _everything_ but a majority, yes. Don't tell you believe Asami-san was merely a businessman? I would believe you'd know your best friend better than to fall in love with a simple salaryman."

Takato fell back onto his couch, the remaining toys tumbling from his hands. "I, uh, I…don't know what else to say."

"Takaba wishes he could be here in person, but since the break of his relationship with Asami, Asami has been looking for him. He wishes to protect Akihito and keep him out of his enemies' clutches, and Akihito wishes to finish his last case, with which I believe you can help."

Takato stared up at Kuroda, uncertainty shifting into his gaze. This was mainly why Kuroda avoided working with the clean-cut, decent people. They just didn't have the fortitude to do what was needed. They were pawns to people like him, people with power and wealth, and despite their virtue, they could be bought and sold by a mere threat.

"What—What do you need from me?" Takato asked.

"Just what you can find at your company. Names. Places. Addresses. Something to help us locate Tsukino."

"I can VPN into the executive's computer, see what I can find."

"Good. Thank you."

Only computer clicks and mouse slides made any noise in Takato's apartment for some time, and Kuroda sat upon the sofa, sunken into the back and trying his best to retain some of his dignity.

"So…my best friend fell in love with a mob boss?" Takato finally said, his eyes never diverting from the screen.

Kuroda glanced down at the fluff bunny staring up at him. "People who know Asami-san well generally do not use that crude of a term but yes."

"Wow. That's…wow. No wonder Aki was concerned about his relationship with Asami-san."

Kuroda's eyebrow rose slightly. "Takaba was…concerned?"

"Yeah. Recently, he was afraid that Asami would dump him or they'd break up. He thought their relationship couldn't go on like it had forever." He shook his head, and the printer grunted to life.

Kuroda's lips turned up into an appreciative smile. "Well, Takaba was right about that. The relationship couldn't have continued in the manner in which Asami and he had grown accustom."

Takato sent him a sideways gaze. "Why not?"

"Because Asami-san's world is too…dark, wicked, to allow someone as…vibrant as Akihito to last at Asami's side. You know he was kidnapped and taken to Hong Kong for a while."

"Yes, and Asami-san went for him."

"Did you know the reason he was taken was because of Asami-san? For retribution?"

Takato focused on the computer again, his face downcast, his tight voice subdued. "No, I didn't."

"And that was only one of Asami-san's enemies. Many would take Takaba with even worse intentions than simply keeping him as a housepet, and if Takaba kept making a name for himself in the criminal photography world, his own enemies would have surfaced, potentially even clients of Asami-san. Their relationship was doomed from the start."

"You have a very pessimistic view of love." Takato snorted a quick laugh.

"I have a realistic view of the world. You know as soon as Takaba and I finish this case, he won't be allowed to work again. No criminal news editor will hire him now with his connection to Asami-san is known, and Asami-san will have constant protection for him. There will be no haven for him in Tokyo."

Takato hesitated after snatching the piece of paper and swiveled in his seat, his eyes shaking. Kuroda hated dealing with the lower classes. "Then—Then you'll protect him, right? If I give you this. You won't let anything happen to Aki."

Kuroda paused before securing the paper. "Of course. He's my boss's lover."

"I thought you said you're a D.A.," Takato asked as Kuroda made a quick path to the door. "I thought you work for the people."

"I do, just certain 'people.' "

* * *

"So apparently, the executive has done several transfers from this place," Kuroda informed Akihito as they stood upon the higher roof overlooking the well-kept warehouse. It appeared to have gotten a fresh coat of paint since the last time Akihito saw it, and the guards duty had been beefed up to include a few men at each doorway, a majority of them preoccupied with the obligatory cigarette.

Akihito dropped his plastic bags filled with take-out and shook his head. "I was here with Mitarai last week. We didn't find any evidence of Tsukino's ring."

"According to Takato's information, there was supposed to be a meeting scheduled here tonight between Eto and Tsukino."

"So Eto works for Tsukino?"

Kuroda nodded. "Seemingly his right hand man. He is also an acquaintance of Asami-sama. They've done…business together."

The plastic covers whined and cracked as Akihito removed them from the dishes. "I still can't believe that Tsukino infiltrated so many of Ryuichi's clubs. That's unreal."

"Tsukino was, for a brief time, believed to be Asami's second-in-command."

"Over Kirishima?" Shock found his voice, and his head jerked upward to meet Kuroda's knowing gaze. "No way."

"I said 'believed.' Asami-sama never truly allowed him into his..ahem, inner circle of trust, if you will, but he rose high enough in the ranks to be considered important."

Akihito offered Kuroda one of the dishes and a set of plastic ware. "What happened?"

Kuroda examined the transparent plastic covering of the utensils like it was a poisonous substance before tearing off the corner and freeing the fork. "Tsukino discovered something he shouldn't have, and Asami-sama…feared, for lack of a better word, for the safety his most precious possession. He decided it was best to remove Tsukino from certain accounts, and Tsukino wasn't happy. He still worked loyally for Asami-sama until Asami-sama discovered one of his clubs was missing a few of its servers. He found out the culprit was Tsukino, who had taken up another line of service to make up for the lost funds he incurred. And the rest you know." A thin line appeared in his forehead as he surveyed the delicious smelling delicacy. "How do you have the funds for take-out sushi?"

Akihito brandished a black American Express card with a soft blush. "Ryuichi's credit card. I never leave home without stealing it."

"Aren't you worried he'll find you?"

"Nah. If someone's tracking Ryuichi's card, I was long gone before they even realized I was there." They sat in silence for a few minutes, only the sound of their chewing and Akihito's occasional apperceive moans between them. Finally, Akihito swallowed and took a sip of his water. "So…tell me how it was growing up with Ryuichi."

"Oh, no." Kuroda let out a bitter laugh. "You're not getting any information about of me."

"Why not? Look, there isn't much to find on Asami Ryuichi. You've got to give me something, Kuroda-san."

"You already know all you need to."

"Like what? That Ryuichi doesn't like sweets. His favorite suit designer are Gucci and Versace, though he will slum it every so often with Hugo Boss. His favorite drink is an important beer from Europe, and he plays the piano."

That rose Kuroda's eyebrows. "He's played for you?"

"Once, yeah. He also said he started owning clubs because his mother liked to dance."

A sad smile found Kuroda's face, and his crestfallen eyes stared at his half-eaten plate. "She did. It was one of her few true passions, and she used to pull either Ryuichi or me to dance with her in the kitchen, in a store, even in a parking lot when she heard a song she enjoyed."

"So…" Akihito hated to take advantage of such a private moment, but his reporter instincts wouldn't allow Kuroda reprieve. "You have the same mother but different fathers?"

"Yes," Kuroda confirmed, his voice almost a whisper. "Ryuichi isn't even sure who his father is. He doesn't really care either. My father played the role of a parental figure for him, if not a true patriarch. My father was somehow tied to the cadet branches of the Imperial Family, though I'm uncertain how."

"I take it both your mother and your father are gone?" His heart ached at the tremendous pain the man across from him exuded in his melancholy eyes, in his trembling bottom lip, in his sad countenance.

"Yes." He offered no explanation, and Akihito didn't asked. Kuroda did continue with a lopsided grin. "Our father loved to spoil our mother, wanting her to be nothing but happy. I believe that's what earned Asami-sama's approval most of all. My father loved to make our mother smile."

"Do you know Ryuichi bought me a car once?" Akihito found himself spouting, unsure why. "A Nissan 370z. Metallic orange. He didn't tell me it was mine. He just drove it up and told me he was teaching me how to drift, but I knew he'd brought it for me. Sports car but not too expensive, so he thought he had a chance of convincing me to keep it. Of course, he gave me a blowjob while I was driving it that first time, and I crashed it."

A disgusted scowl twisted upon Kuroda's usually stoic features. "We need to work on the TMI situation when it comes to my brother."

Akihito blushed. "Right. Sorry. Anyway, I think that was the first time I actually saw him smile. I mean, he flashes these wicked grins and diabolical smirks, but that night, while we were driving, his mouth actually parted into a true smile."

Kuroda's gaze and tone softened. "He finds joy seeing the people he loves enjoy themselves. He's almost…selfless in that sense."

"Yeah, but I don't want to rely on him, not like that. I don't want to be one of those people who mooches off their lover. I love him too much to do that. And what happens if one day Ryuichi wakes up and decides he doesn't want me anymore? I know this is self-preservation, but I need to be able to support myself if that time comes. I mean, he could walk out on the street and snap his fingers and someone would drop to their knees before his zipper."

Kuroda leaned over the edge of the roof, and his appraising gaze sought the moment. Still no action. Some shift change, it seemed. "A little after his time at the university, he met this woman with power, looks, and prestige. Her parents had old money, and she was a goddess walking the Earth with a smile that would charm anyone and the voice that would angel's cry. I told Ani-san to marry her. She was perfect for him and would have added the right amount of authenticity to his campaign to own Shinjuku. You know what he told me?"

Akihito shook his head but leaned forward, needing to know the answer.

"He said he couldn't imagine coming home to her, that he would rather her not be there when he did." He sent Akihito a sliver of a smile. "I've never known Asami-sama to ask anyone to live with him, let alone actually steal their stuff and put it in his condo. You fear being lost in my brother's life, but I don't understand why. He's become lost in yours. Sure, he manages a multi-billion corporation and crime syndicate, but he also dives into your life every day, having you followed, pushing away work to fly to Hong Kong to rescue you, blowing off meetings to have dinner with you. You're not just his lover, Takaba-kun. You're his life. Why won't you make yours his?"

Akihito opened his mouth before aborting the gesture with a slam of his teeth. There were so many thoughts right and wrong with that statement, but before he could comment, the horrific sound of a gun cocking stole any breath from him. He turned to see women in short skirts with thigh holsters standing before Kuroda and him in quasi-business suits. One of the woman dropped her sunglasses to her nose and smirked.

"Tsukino-sama appreciates your visit. He will to see you now."

To Be Continued…


	5. TA is Engaged to AR

Akihito's skin crawled, and he couldn't help the violent shiver that made its way down his spine. And not in a good way, like when Asami's warm breath accompanied whispered promises. No, disgust and anguish flooded him as the suit-clad henchwomen lead him and Kuroda into the "winery warehouse." In reality, it was a meat market of humans.

Open crates lined the middle row of the warehouse for "clients" to pick and choose from the men and women who were strung together by chains and ropes. His stomach churned when he saw others, drugged and bound, placed into smaller containers to be shipped who-knew-where. The situation reminded him too much of his journey to Hong Kong when he awoke in a small cell and waited to be loaded off the fright boat like cargo.

Kuroda blanched, his own stoic front no match for the harsh truth of reality, but his focus wasn't upon the slaves. He kept sending Akihito sideways glances as if Kuroda worried what this place would do to him. Apparently, Asami couldn't keep anything to himself and had spilled intimate details about Akihito's time with Feilong to his brother. Of course, Asami didn't know much, Akihito not wanting to dwell on the past, but now…

Now all Akihito kept thinking was how he'd researched this place, staked it out with Mitarai, and they'd missed this. How many victims were sold and shipped within the last few days? How many could they have saved? He promised himself he wouldn't let those people or any others suffer this horrible fate. No, he'd save them, wherever they were—as long as he and Kuroda made it out of this alive, of course.

At the end of the row, an expensive desk chair, akin to a throne, awaited them, devoid of an owner. Kuroda snorted, shaking his head as the henchwomen curled about them to guard.

"So, where is this boss of yours? Don't tell me we've been stood-up on our first date."

Akihito nodded, though he couldn't take his haunted eyes off the sobbing people. "Maybe he showed up and didn't think we were pretty enough for him."

"Oh, don't worry, Takaba-kun. I think you're pretty, though I liked you much better when you were painted black and blue."

Akihito flinched at the sinister voice masquerading as a kind one. When he turned, Tsukino stalked forward, his suit pressed and perfect, his feral smirk an abomination to the world. He walked with an exaggerated swagger, and Akihito doubted the man was that endowed. Asami never walked with that.

Akihito let his eyes burn with a fury he usually saved for Asami. "You sick bastard. You think you're going to get away with this?"

"Going?" Tsukino laughed and quickly sought a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "I already have. I own this little nugget of import and export in Tokyo, but don't worry. My standards are high." He ran a gentle hand down Akihito's cheek, eliciting a fierce shiver from Akihito. "I'll make sure someone with deep pockets and a big, fat cock chooses you, so every night, you'll be reminded of your mistake to cross me."

"I doubt it," Akihito snorted. "Have you ever seen Ryuichi's? No, I didn't think so. It's about the size of cookie dough roll. Yeah, trying having that shoved up your ass every night. You'll think everyone else's is a roll of dimes."

Kuroda released a loud, frustrated groan and slapped his hand over his eyes. "We talked about boundaries, right? Seriously, Takaba-kun. I didn't need to know that."

Akihito blushed, heat rushing to his cheeks. "This isn't a pleasant conversation for me, either."

"Hey, why are you here?" Tsukino waved his cigarette at Kuroda, the smoke whisking about the immediate area. "I was released. Go lock up some worthless criminal and leave the professionals alone."

A dark madness crept into Kuroda's gaze, cold and chilling. "You are a worthless criminal, and trust me, I plan to lock you up for a very, very long time."

Tsukino shrugged a shoulder. "Man, I don't want to kill a D.A., but y'know, I'm not adverse to it. I've killed way more important than you."

"You seem proud of it. You must list it on your résumé as accomplishments. Or is that under duties you preformed for your past employer? I'm sure you've been hitting the job fairs since Asami-sama fired your ass."

"Kuroda-san, give the man some credit. I'm sure he listed his kills under honors. He said they were important." Akihito offered a crooked smile. "You hit the latest member of the J-Pop—ugh!"

The backhand hurt more than he remembered, blood immediately slipping over his lips. He ducks the second blow and returns a kidney punch, gaining a grunt from Tsukino, but the man was a professional criminal. His next blow hit Akihito's cheek faster than he could avoid, and Akihito rolled with a punch—right into Tsukino's left hook. A rib popped, and Akihito let out a yelp as he collapsed to his knees, hugging his torso with one hand.

"So who would you rather have as your new master? An African warlord? Perhaps a South American dictator, preferably one Asami doesn't contract with. You'd be surprised about the very specific tastes powerful men have. Well, I guess _you_ wouldn't be."

Tsukino's gentle fingers feign kindness as they caressed Akihito's bloody jaw and slowly raised his chin. Thankfully, Tsukino didn't smoke Dunhills, so the stench of his hand didn't taint Asami's unique and comforting scent, which Akihito longed to enjoy right now.

"I seriously don't get it," Tsukino continued tenderly, though Akihito flinched. "You're cute, I guess, for a guy, but I don't see why you get eaten like sushi on New Year's. You are so not my type."

"Good," Akihito snorted, his voice harsh from the gasping. "Finally a straight gangster. I was beginning to believe all of you in the Eastern Hemisphere were gay."

"Oh, there are enough of us, but what we all crave isn't ass. It's power, and I'm sure you've realized you're not Asami's lover. You're his pet. He owns you, Takaba-kun…oh, wait. That's right." His smirk demonized. "It's the other way around."

Akihito went numb, his mouth dropping open in disbelief.

"That's right. You said that to my man when he was watching you, and that's when I knew you could be of use to me because you know what? You're _right_." Tsukino tugged on a particularly long strand of Akihito's now crimson-streaked hair. "Do you know why I was demoted by Asami-_sama_? I happened to see the little honey-haired wildcat he hadn't managed to hide quite as well as he thought. I found out where you worked, had you followed to see just what use you were to our organization, what with all the security you have. And then his other men—that bastard Nakahara and his boss Suoh—told Asami I was looking into you, and when I demanded to know your use to the organization, he sent me back to…" He shivered. "…inventory management for his lower clubs."

Akihito swallowed the warm bile that surged in his throat.

"And that's when I decided, if you're really that important to him, if you're not just his whore or an asset, then you could be of use to me."

Akihito snorted. "Get in line. Feilong. Mikhail. Hell, even Sakagaki thought the exact same thing. You know what they discovered? Plastic surgery costs a lot more than they thought."

"Don't worry. I don't plan on beating you so much as to require plastic surgery. After all—" His fingers traced the curve of Akihito's cheek. "—no one pays for damaged goods."

Akihito knew this was stupid, surrounded by divertive versions of Doctor Evil's Fembots, but he reacted to Tsukino's docile disposition with a swift kick to the man's leg. Having played soccer in his youth, he knew of the long nerve that locked and gave considerable pain to any victim when hit. Tsukino gasped and crumbled to the ground, swears spitting from his clenched teeth as Akihito rose to his feet. Another kick to Tsukino's head flung it back against the concrete, and Akihito didn't look to see the man's bloodied face.

Instead, he saw Kuroda knock out one of the henchwoman with an impressive chop to her neck before freeing her gun and aiming it at a second.

"You know, I promised your friend Takato I wouldn't let you get hurt," he shouted. "Thanks for making me a liar."

"Really?" He wiped the dribbling blood from his nose. "You're afraid of Takato? I'd be more afraid of your brother if I were you."

More shouts echoed through the warehouse as a woman with a MAC-10 ran toward them. That was just overkill. He already had his hands up in a surrender position with the other few henchwomen more than able to point their guns and fire a warning shot at him. He poked his finger through the new hole in his jacket, between his arm and torso.

"Wow. You mean business. And here I thought the suit was just for show."

A cruel hand fisted his hair, eliciting a sharp cry before Akihito was thrown in the batch of henchwomen. Three or fourth cushioned his fall, grabbing his arms and poking him with their hard gun barrels.

"You should be glad you're not my taste, Akihito-kun. Ladies, ready our guest for auction."

With a pleading "No!" Akihito gagged as one of the ladies shoved a scarf his mouth and tied it about the back. He fought against their hold, which was surprisingly strong, as their fingers wrenched his jacket from his body and dug into his skin. A cold dread dropped into his stomach and buckled his knees as reality broke through his haze of disbelief. These women were truly grabbing him, restraining him, forcing his hands behind his back and tearing his clothes from his body.

That wasn't even the worst part of the situation.

"Now for you…" Tsukino turned to Kuroda, his malicious grin carving his horrible face. "You're of no use to me."

Kuroda's eyes darted from the girl holding the gun on him to the approaching Tsukino. The man's steps were deliberate strides, as if he refused to rush himself to the kill. Desperation fueled Akihito's movements, and he elbowed one of the girls in the side before freeing his other hand with a brisk tug. He raced past Tsukino, diving between Kuroda and Tsukino as a single shot was fired.

The pain was immediate and debilitating, and it only sharpened when Akihito slammed against the ground. His entire right side flared with a raging fire, and he cried out, tears surging from the corners of his eyes and coursing his flushed cheeks.

"Akihito…" Kuroda called, though his voice hardly carried to Akihito's ear, like he shouted underwater. "Akihito!"

The world blurred, and nothing existed but the pain. Then Tsukino entered his vision, his gun so close Akihito could see the shine of the barrel. "You stupid fuck! Now I'm going to have to kill you!"

Before Akihito could suck a ragged breath, a bullet tore Tsukino from Akihito's sight, crimson droplets splattering upon his once immaculate cheek. Thunder crashed, and Akihito gasped, the pain too great for him to do anything else. Kuroda hovered over him, his eyes wide and his face pale. He muttered Akihito's name over and over, worry inflicting his tone, but even though he fought against the comfort of unconsciousness, Akihito rasped as Mikhail bent behind Kuroda, "Bastard…"

* * *

When Yuri shot Akihito on that cruise ship, he also yanked Asami's heart from his chest. The few seconds slowed to eternity before Asami knelt by his fallen Akihito's side and felt the still strong tha-thump of the young man's blood pushing through his veins. Asami's heart failed to beat the same until those pale but warm eyes fluttered opened and an unconscious smile perked up the lips that begged to be abused by him. Only then, did Asami's heart settle into a normal albeit heightened rhythm, how it always pumped when he sought his young, vivacious Akihito, and he vowed never to feel the agony of fear again. He swore to protect Akihito from his world and his enemies, but his enemies were ruthless and Akihito independent. And Akihito and Asami's heart once more paid for his foolish pride.

Mikhail kept his promise. The majority of the henchwomen lay unmoving on the floor, blood pooling under their heads or bodies. The few who lived were tied up in a crate, ready for judgment. Mikhail's men currently saw to the needs of the captives, giving them food and water and medical attention.

Asami sought Mikhail at the very end of the aisle as he loomed behind one of his men, who currently worked upon an injured victim upon the ground. Hunched next to the shielded person was Kuroda. The familiar jeans and sneakers widened Asami's eyes and quickened his breath, but Mikhail met him before he could reach Akihito, hands up.

"He'll be fine. A little worse for wear but alive."

Asami trained his gun directly upon Mikhail's left eye. "What the hell did you do?"

"It was Tsukino, Asami-sama," Kuroda interjected, coming to stand between Mikhail and the weapon. His hands, too, were raised. "He was going to shoot me, and Takaba-kun jumped between. He…" He bowed his head and glanced back at the prone figure. "He saved my life."

"…Ryu..?" the weak, tentative voice called, and it was a shock to Asami's system. He came about Mikhail and his man to see the full extent of Akihito's injuries, but he schooled his face as best he could, the crimson abundant, the number of bandages horrifying.

Akihito used Kuroda's jacket as a pillow, his trenchcoat as a blanket. He lifted a shaky hand toward Asami, and Asami knelt, taking it instantly. Sweat trickled down Akihito's pale face, his longer strands sticking to his forehead and cheeks, and his eyes were dark, somber. Asami blocked out his sudden urge for a cigarette and brushed Akihito's bangs instead, content to let his hand do something. Akihito's lazy grin transformed into something almost wicked, and he called, "Ryu?"

Asami bent. "Yes?"

"I'm going to kick your ass when I get a better. Count on it."

* * *

After Mikhail's men stabilized Akihito enough for him to be moved, Kirishima called for an ambulance and Akihito was transported to Asami's clinic for further treatment. The surgery was quick and successful to remove the bullet and reset the bone, and Kuroda waited in the sterile hallway as the younger man slept away the pain and pain killers. Nakahara and Suoh stood guard right outside the door. Kirishima paced a little way down the hall, phone to his ear. He muttered low, snapped sentences before going silent, his condemning eyes finding Kuroda's widened ones.

That bastard Mitarai couldn't keep his trap shut to save both their lives.

As Kirishima hit off his phone and started for him, Kuroda pushed off the wall and dropped his arms. Kirishima was usually a stoic man, professional to the fault, but his emotion shone through his furious eyes. He opened his mouth when the door to Akihito's room opened, and Asami stepped out, his hair slightly disheveled, his tie missing from his neck. Suoh took his place in the room and shut the door behind him.

"Kirishima," Asami called, but Kuroda put out his hand, preventing the assistant from answering.

"Asami-sama," Kuroda began before bowing to his brother and boss. "It was I who betrayed Takaba-kun and informed his colleague about your relationship."

Kuroda waited, dread slinking into his stomach and curling as he didn't dare to rise. He'd seen his brother pissed before, but it wouldn't match what his brother would feel when betrayed.

After what seemed hours, though it was perhaps seconds, Asami grounded out between clenched teeth, "Come."

Kuroda rose and followed his brother's back as they made their way through the small but modern clinic. The electric doors opened with a hiss, and as soon as Asami stepped outside, his lighter and cigarette appeared, and he made quick work of the first few centimeters of the simmering stick. Only once he blew out a cloud of smoke, did he grate, "Explain why you not only took my lover with you to a confrontation with a known killer but also felt the need to expose our private lives to the world."

Taking quick note of the men stationed at each corner and the one they'd passed just before the door, Kuroda straightened his back and hoped for the best. After all, Asami wouldn't call those men to dispose of him. He'd do the job himself.

"You should be thanking me, Asami-sama."

Asami's eyebrows rose before a torrent of anger washed away the surprise in his eyes. "Really? How'd you come to that conclusion?"

"Did you really think Takaba would give up criminal photography for you? He just claimed his first major award. He went on talk shows. He's investigated your clients. Hell, how many times did he investigate you and not know it?"

"And you thought that gave you carte blanch to reveal our relationship to the public?"

Asami's calm voice did nothing for Kuroda's nerves. "It would have happened eventually. If not now, then somewhere down the road. You were discreet enough to warn your adversaries and a few of your clients he was off-limits, but eventually, one of them would have talked when he got too close. Then you would have tried to save him, but it might have been too late. Or maybe you would have saved him by sacrificing himself."

A long string of ash tumbled off the cigarette's edge. "That wasn't your decision to make."

"I'm not going to stand by and let you kill yourself when I can prevent it, Oniisan." Kuroda's tone grew soft as he looked away. "You were never going to give up your job, and neither was he. Eventually, your relationship would have self-destructed. I saved it. Takaba-kun'll have to leave criminal photography, and he'll be forced to depend upon you. You can finally be together."

Asami snorted. "You think the brat will rely upon me? Then you really don't know him. If anything, you've made it worse. He'll probably run in the exact opposite direction just to prove he doesn't need me."

"Do you love him?"

Asami glared at Kuroda as if to gage the man's motivation, and like always, those brown-gold eyes were sharp, unrelenting in their search. He nodded nonetheless and sucked in a prolonged inhale. "Yes."

"Then make it work."

Shaking his head, Asami looked to the heavens. "I cut you a lot of slack, Shinji, for no other reason than our familial ties, but you betrayed my lover and by doing so, betrayed me. That I cannot tolerate."

"But I did it for you, Oniisan! And you were right. Perhaps Takaba-kun can never be your equal, but his actions today proved that he's a worthy partner."

"I explained to you earlier that his worth is of no concern to you." Tamed malice ran through Asami's features. "You took it upon yourself to make decisions about his life—about _my_ life—with no consideration except for your own prerogative. I have never done that to you."

Kuroda felt the thick lump form in his throat, and he muttered through his clenched jaw, "You may believe whatever you desire, Oniisan, but I had the best intentions for all parties involved."

"Did you, Shinji? Or was it more convenient for you if Takaba never left my side, so you wouldn't have to help save him again?"

"He is a liability, not only to you and your subordinates personally but also to your clients professionally."

"I see."

"I do not see a downside to this, Oniisan."

Asami's eyes narrowed; his voice grew hoarse. "When you asked to work for me, I made sure to keep you safe. I guaranteed your father and our mother that you would never be harmed, and I've kept that promise, placing you on the right side of the law. The favors I ask of you are nothing compared to those I ask of other men."

The doors to the clinic swished open; footsteps met the pavement.

"But asking me to doctor documents to help your wayward lover get back in the country was extreme. You know what that could have cost me, but I willingly did it and would do it again for you, and now with Takaba—"

"You mean now that Takaba saved your life?"

"Asami-sama…" Kirishima interrupted. "Takaba-kun has awakened. He wishes to see you."

"Thank you," Asami replied, never looking backward at his assistant who bowed and returned to his station. "You think what you've done won't have repercussions? Takaba lives for the thrill he receives from the hunt. He is a vibrant young man who has talent you cannot begin to amount, and you've just squandered who he is and what he could be. And do you know what's ironic?" Pure ice came from Asami's tone as he flicked away the cigarette and headed inside. "Takaba saved your life, and you ruined his."

* * *

The only light in the room came from the vitals monitor, and its soft glow slid across Akihito's features, almost making him appear ethereal. Asami's breath caught in his chest for a brief moment as he once more realized how close he had been to losing his light forever, but he clamped down upon that horrifying thought. Tsukino was dead now, and Akihito had no other choice but to stay by Asami's side.

Asami ran a hand along the railing as he came to Akihito's side, a tiny grin finding his lips. Those vibrant eyes met his, and even though they were tired and dilated, they were a shimmering treasure.

"Your mother called. I promised her I wouldn't allow anything to happen to you."

A ragged cough Asami suspected was a laugh barked from Akihito's throat, and Akihito winced, pain still raging through his maimed body. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

"Yes, but it would help if the person in question would work with me instead of continuously running away."

"When you make decrees about my life without consulting me, then you should expect me to run."

The irony of the situation was not lost upon Asami, and he took the seat next to the bed, his hand lingering upon Akihito's cool one. "You still do not understand the repercussions of your actions. This—" He motioned to Akihito's hurt shoulder. "—is not the worst thing that could have happened to you today."

"I know." Akihto clutched Asami's hand, his head lolling to the side of the pillow, so he could see Asami. "But those people needed someone to save them, and there are still others out there. I need to help them."

Asami's thumb drew small strokes upon Akihito's soft skin. "Why you? There are police and PSIA agents for that."

"The same people who should be able to stop you from doing what you do?"

"You are so stubborn."

"You love me that way." Akihito gifted Asami with a genuine smile, and Asami couldn't help but brush his knuckles against the boy's cheek. A deep sadness settled in his gut, and he dreaded what he would say next.

"Things will be…different now. With your worth to me revealed to my enemies, there is no doubt that your life will no longer be your own. The 'stalkers,' as you called them, will become bodyguards, and that's just the start of the parameters."

"That's if I decide to stay with you."

The severity in the boy's eyes shocked Asami, and he narrowed his own to hide the strong fear that squeezed his heart.

"You deliberately fed me information, so I take out one of your own men. You _used_ me, and—and—I can't—" He hissed and flung his head back into the pillow, his teeth clenched from the overwhelming pain. Asami brought down the railing and cradled Akihito's cheek.

"I'm sorry."

"For using me or for this?"

"The bullet wound. I thoroughly enjoy using you and your body daily." The attempt at humor was not appreciated, but Asami refused to look away from the demanding eyes. "You don't know this, but Kuroda Shinji—"

"—is your brother," Akihito spat with venom. "You don't seem to know this, but I am a journalist. My job is to find out the truth, so stop treating me like I'm a precocious child you want to hide things from."

Asami leaned his forehead against Akihito's stomach, reveling in the slight rise and fall of the body. Akihito's fingers entwined his hair before slowly slicking it back.

"If this is going to work, you can't hide things from me anymore. I'm no longer going to be a criminal journalist. You won't have to worry about how the knowledge of your business will compromise me."

Asami laid his cheek upon Akihito's stomach, but the boy's eyes avoided his. "Yes, I do. It will compromise who you are. I'll drag you to Hell with me, Akihito, but I won't condemn you there by your own violation."

"It would be my fault anyway. I let you seduce me."

"Did I?" Asami slid down the blanket and dipped his fingers under Akihito's shirt, petting the warm stomach next to his cheek. "The way I see it, _you_ seduced _me_."

Akihito snorted and threaded his fingers with Asami's. "You don't take no for an answer in any situation."

"I always get what I want."

"I know that." Akihito snorted and looked away. "You were wrong feeding me information. I trusted you, and you used me."

"To get a madman off the streets."

"But I can't trust that you won't do it again, and I, uh…I don't know what to do now. Those people still need help, but my editor probably won't take my call. I guess I'm fired, and—"

"Shh…" Asami brushed Akihito's lips with his own before deepening the embrace to a slow ritual. "You don't need to worry about any of that anymore. Since the world knows of our relationship, then we should make it official."

Akihito's eyes flashed with uncertainty. "What do you mean?"

Asami smirked as he kissed Akihito's hand. "Have you ever wanted to see New York, my Akihito?"

* * *

After ten days, Akihito was discharged from the clinic and allowed to return to Asami's suite at the Park Hyatt with numerous restrictions. Three months in the sling to help the healing of his shattered humerus and clavicle, six months until he was back to good health, at which time Asami promised if he behaved, he'd grant the younger man a week of mind-blowing bed action. Of course, that didn't stop Asami completely. Akihito woke up a few times with the man's hand down his boxer shorts. Once, Asami was even asleep.

After five days out of the clinic, Akihito called his editor and was shocked that man took it.

"You're dating a known criminal."

"Technically, we're engaged, and no one has any dirt on him."

"And you think that makes it better? Takaba! I can't hire a photojournalist who shares a bed with a crime lord, and I won't be putting my other journalists in harm's way. Here at _The Weekly Edition_, we have high standards."

"Really?" Akihito hissed when the sling strap dug into his neck. "Is that why you called me to get a comment? Or why you investigated one of your own employees? I'm sure there's an HR violation some—"

Three annoying beeps sounded in his ear, and the scream read, "Call Ended." The phone shattered against the nearest doorframe.

After seven days, his parents came to the suite, his mother cupping her mouth when she saw his sling and bandages. Of course, he had brilliantly decided to wear a tank top that day.

"It's a scratch. Really."

"That is _not_ a scratch," his mother blubbered, and he snatched a few tissues from the end table. "You have a hole in your shoulder. A hole!"

The tissues quickly dampened, but his father leaned over, observing the thick bandages and noticeable bruising. "Did you get the story?"

"Jun!"

"What? If the boy is going to be shot, he might as well have gotten the scoop."

Akihito hissed when he shrugged, the wound still fresh, the pain still acute, but he quickly replaced the grimace with a sheepish smile. "I actually didn't get the scoop. After I was shot, Ryu took care of the rest. The people responsible are either in prison and being prosecuted by the D.A. or Ryu's still searching for them."

His mother's sniffling only grew louder. "Promise me you'll stay away from them. Promise you won't go near those men again."

"Can't even if I wanted to." Akihito motioned toward the front door. "You saw the guys outside the door, right? They're Ryu's men. They're my captors."

"Captors?" his father repeated.

Akihito rolled his eyes. "Yepper. Ryu's afraid of his enemies finding me and…well, that's never a pleasant experience. Add the traffickers, and he's pretty sure if I show my face in public…y'know…so these guards are to protect me from the bad guys—um…the worse bad guys. And…" He finished swiftly and under his breath, "They also make sure I don't leave."

"So it's true," his mother wondered. The fear was palpable in her voice. "Ryuichi is a mafia boss?"

"He prefers 'crime lord,' I think, but he's been good to me, Mom," Akihito whispered, fidgeting with his sling's strap about his torso. "He's saved my life more than once, and he's never asked for anything in return but…me. I love him." The easy admission startled him, but it was the truth. "I will marry him, and—and…"

"And this will be your life?" his father demanded, though his harsh voice was betrayed by the pleasure upon his face from the gourmet tea and treats upon the coffee table. "Locked away in some—some opulent penthouse with guards and—and…what are these made of?"

"Um…I'm not sure." Akihito tasted one of the pastries, licking the excess crème from his lips. "I think it's pecan with margarine topping."

"It's delicious."

Akihito reached with his hand for the phone. "I'll order some more up."

"Don't." His mother grabbed his knee and squeezed. "Honey, please. Think clearly about what you're doing. You're thinking about throwing away everything you've worked so hard to achieve."

"I know. I know, but—"

"But what? He's a crime lord! How can you be okay with this? How can you just give up your entire life for Ryuichi?"

The door opened then, and Asami took the room, his trench coat and black gloves accenting his powerful motif. Coupled with his briefcase and impeccable suit, he appeared to be the crime lord Akihito knew him to be and not the typical business Akihito's parents thought he was.

"You're home for dinner at a normal hour?" Akihito laughed as a natural smile grew upon his young face. "Kirishima brought out the binders again?"

"And the spreadsheets."

"Ouch."

"Ah, Takaba-sans." Asami shrugged out of his coat before bowing to Takaba's father and kissing his mother's cheek, though she noticeably flinched. "I hope you'll stay for dinner. Akihito is cooking tonight." As he rolled up his sleeves and headed toward the bedroom, he ran a tender hand through Akihito's hair before pressing a socially acceptable kiss to Akihito's lips.

Akihito's heated gaze followed Asami out of the room, his neck bent back over the spine of the couch, his head cocked just so to watch Asami's ass shift in his shapely slacks.

His mother scowled. "You're not in love with him. You're in love with his body."

Akihito snatched the room service menu. "It is a good body."

"I prefer 'amazing,'" Asami's smooth voice retorted from the bedroom.

"You would, you conceited nutjob!" Lifting the menu to hide his goofy smile, Akihito asked, "So, what would you like for dinner? I recommend the kappa maki."

After a month, Akihito threw back a beer, enjoying his first real taste of normalcy in what seemed like forever. The beer was cheap and cool. The food was decent, not extraordinary, and the laughter was carefree and humorous. Akihito leaned back upon his suite's plush sofa, his arm loose from the sling and lying upon the propped-up pillows. Guzzling the rest of the beer, he felt _good_. Really good.

"Strippsters," Kou laughed, crossing his socked feet upon the coffee table. "We're gonna need some strippsters. And jello shots and hot girls to do them on."

Akihito giggled. "Did you just say 'strippsters?'"

"And jello shots!" With his knees bent, Kou scribbled excitedly upon his note pad which detailed his "master plan." "Do you think we can get good sushi there? Maybe some chocolate. Some sake! Ooh! Ooh! A sake chocolate fountain!"

Akihito rolled his eyes toward Takato, who reclined on the couch next him, and relaxed into a dazed smile. "I think Kou's more excited about my bachelor party than I am."

"He's only going to get one shot at throwing a bachelor party for someone without a price tag. He wants to make sure he abuses your fiancé's credit card to the fullest." Takato threw back another swig of beer. "And he will, on boobs and beer and—"

"'Strippster' is a male stripper in Kou's mind, isn't it?"

"Either that or he's more drunk than we think."

"Well, it could be worse, I guess." Akihito grabbed another beer from the cooler on the end table and shook the melting ice cubes from the slick edge. "He could want to see _Bridesmaids _for the umpteenth time."

"Shh!" Takato popped the top and stole a sip. "Don't put any more ideas into his head."

"That was good movie, and it might give me some ideas!" Jumping with both feet on the chair, Kou snatched the remote and flipped through the movies on the TV. "Hey, what do you think about base jumping off the Empire State Building?"

Akihito sat up so fast that his arm protested with invisible pins stabbing his skin, but his mind reeled. That was an amazing idea!

"No," Takato insisted, shaking his head. "Your fiancé is keeping you under lock and key, and you think he's going to let you base jump from a building? And I'm not even talking about the myriad of different things that is wrong with the whole idea, like laws and parachutes and your arm in a sling for two more months."

Akihito jerked his head. "You are no fun, Takato."

"No fun," Kou added before glancing down at his list. "Great. That only leaves strippsters, strippers, jello shots, and sushi."

Akihito cringed. "And Ryu probably won't like me grinding with someone who's not him. He goes all Green Goblin when I'm touched by anyone else."

"Oh, come on! If Asami-san can hang around with pretty dudes with long, girly hair and manicures, then you can bump and grind with a sleazy striper in a g-string and eat jello shots from his belly button a few days before your big day." Kou was adamant, even crossing his arm and huffing like a five year old who was just punished. "It's only the natural rite of passage."

"I wonder what Asami-san will do for his bachelor party." Takato glanced out at the glistening lights of Shinjuku. "Cigars. Whiskey."

"Whiskey!" Onto the list it went.

"Probably some gambling."

"Gambling!"

"He doesn't seem like the kinda guy who gets strippers and lap dances."

"No," Akihito agreed, flicking the top of the beer can that sat between his thighs. "He really doesn't. I guess…I guess maybe we should take off the strippsters. We can still do the jello shots and whiskey."

"Fine…" Three scratches ripped across the paper, and Kou smiled sheepishly. "I had strippsters twice. Hey, we can still have girls, right? They do nothing for you."

Akihito guzzled more of his beer before replying, "Sure, why not? Oh, and by the way, you're a douche."

"Y'know, I saw this dinner show online the other day. 'Murdered by the Mob?' Looked pretty —ow!"

Akihito felt his heart plummet, and all the times he laid in Asami's bed, cold and missing him after a night of shootings between gangs, flashed through his troubled mind. He took another swig and then another, hoping to get drunk enough for the fear to stop eating away at his gut. Only now did he realize that the fear would never go away. When Asami didn't make home one night, he wouldn't think he was simply working late. He would think his husband wouldn't be coming home ever.

"They got your non-dominant arm, so why not laser tag?" Takato offered, ribbing Akihito's good arm and bringing him back to reality. Akihito smiled. It was good to have friends like his.

"Thanks, Take. That sounds like a great idea."

"Awesome! Whoo! We can do that after the base jumping!" Kou scribbled. "So…we're going to be in New York. What else can we do there? Oh! How about cow tipping! They do that there, right?"

Reaching for another sushi roll, Takato mumbled between bites, "Hey, why is it going to be in New York anyway? What's wrong with a ceremony here?"

"Well, apparently it's legal to two men to marry to New York, and Ryuichi wanted me to be legally his somewhere. Possessive prick. He also wanted it out of the media and his enemies' claws, and New York is pretty much his stomping grounds—y'know, East Asian speaking. His organization is stronger than any of the mobs there, too, and I've always wanted to see New York. So I think he sees this as a win-win-win."

"You're not…" Takato seemed to brace himself for a moment, forcing Akihito to throw his crushed beer can at him to continue. "You're not going to stay there, are you? I mean, if you're going to marry there, seems like Asami-san is going to have to break some laws to get you guys legal."

"No worries, Take. Ryu might want me all for himself, but he's not that…" He stopped for a moment and grabbed another beer. "I'll talk to him."

"Hey!" Kou jumped between them, flopping down upon the couch. Liquor wafted from his saturated breath. "So, I was thinking instead of flowers for the wedding, we can use gun holsters and camera straps. Whadda you think?"

Three loud bangs rapped upon the front, and the friends started. Akihito glanced at his watch. Asami wasn't due for another five hours, and he wouldn't have knocked anyway.

"You expecting anybody?" Takato eyed the door suspiciously.

"Well, I was hoping the grim reaper would be around much later, but he probably doesn't give notice before showing up." Akihito kicked Kou's shin. "Go get that."

"And be shot by one of your fiancé's enemies? Hell no!"

"There are guards outside."

Takato bounced to his feet. "I'll get it, but if I die, I'm going to come back and haunt you."

"With or without legs?" Akihito replied. "I've never understood why some ghosts have legs and others have tails."

"I don't want to find out!" Takato ripped open the door to see a go-teed man not much older than him with a knapsack slung over his shoulder. "You don't look like an assassin. Or at least not a good one."

The man jerked an eyebrow. "Damnit. I was going for 'damn good assassin' when I put on this vest this morning."

"It's alright, Takato!" Akihito called from the couch. "It's just my bastard ex-colleague who sold me out for a quick buck and world-wide notoriety."

"And because I was tired of you moping around the office when you thought your lover was doing someone else." Mitarai slipped past the fuming Takato and grabbed a cool beer from the ice bucket. "So, what's this? Planning the big day?"

Kou stood, checking the man over with a few quick glances. "You are a lowlife asshole. I've got a few choice—"

"—drunken words," Akihito laughed. "Guys, sit down. We have cakes to taste and humans to track down." Despite his buzzed disposition, Akihito's face grew deadly serious, and his narrowed eyes pinned Mitarai to his seat. "What have you been able to find?"

"You ever hear of a man named Vito De Luca?" When Akihito shook his head, Mitarai flipped open a file and slapped it upon the coffee table. "He's a distributor of many fine items. Drugs, guns, and humans, apparently. His company, Onyx Exports, worked closely with Eto's until recently."

Takato glanced up from the file, his beer perched before his lips. "Where is this Mr. De Luca located?"

"That's the kicker." Mitarai smirked. "New York. Aren't you getting married there in less than a month, Aki? Coincidence?"

* * *

Kirishima pushed up his glasses and rolled through the morning's emails on his iPhone. He already rescheduled Asami-sama's meeting with that Colombian businessman, pushed up that appointment with the Dentist, and then made an appointment with a dentist. As the elevator slid up again, he placed a ready hand upon his gun and waited for it past. It wasn't like he thought someone would come here—only a handful of people knew where Asami and his new fiancé were staying—but he wanted to be prepared.

So the suite door opening caught him off guard, as did the sodden-haired and half-naked Akihito. The boy wore his usual jeans and socks, but the thick and soggy bandages upon his shoulder stood out upon his shirtless torso. Embarrassment averted the boy's eyes and flushed his usually pink cheeks red.

"Kirishima-san? Would you help me with my bandages and sling? Ryu usually does, but he let me sleep in today."

Now that Kirishima thought about it, Asami-sama seemed more relaxed than usual this morning.

"Of course, Takaba-kun." Kirishima texted for one of the men in the lobby to guard the door and then followed the boy into the suite. Akihito bent his bad arm, so his good arm held it tightly as he took a seat at the dining room table. Kirishima saw the boy had managed to layout the necessary equipment, and Takaba's strong will still amazed him. Oh, sure, he knew it existed before the incident. No one could butt heads with Asami-sama and come back for more verbal and bodily punishment like Takaba, but accepting a bullet at point blank range for your lover's brother—that took more than spunk and stubbornness.

Kirishima began by pressing a wet towel to the bandages, loosening the old tape on the bruised skin. He held in his shock when he saw the raw skin, healing wounds, and finite scars. There was no doubt the boy's skin would be less than pristine when all was said and done, but Asami-sama's surgeon performed well. The wound itself looked to be almost completely closed, and despite minor flinching and hissing, Akihito complained very little.

As Kirishima applied the antiseptic cream, Akihito glanced over his shoulder with a pained smile. "Don't you have better things to do than stand outside my door all day?"

"I will do what Asami-sama asks of me."

"So if he asked you to…I don't know…jump off Tokyo Skytree, you would?"

The baiting smile was rather endearing, Kirishima thought, playful and kind, not accusatory and wicked.

Kirishima weaved the large bandages about Akihito's shoulder and torso before reaching for the shirt on the table. "Asami-sama wouldn't ask me to complete such a task without reason, but yes, if he asked, I would."

"Do you think I'm worthy of Ryu?"

The forceful tone demanded honesty, and Kirishima gave it. "My opinion matters little to Asami-sama."

"Why? You're one of his most trusted advisors."

"In terms of business, yes. In terms of his personal life, he rarely cares what others think."

Akihito nodded and looked down upon the lap, where his fingers fidgeted and curled with one another. "So you agree with Kuroda. You don't think I deserve Ryu."

"I didn't say that."

A low hiss slithered through Akihito's teeth as Kirishima slid the shoulder straps about Akihito's neck and tightened them around the boy's biceps and stomach. When he turned toward the boy, he drew back at his head at the piercing glare that met him.

"When contemplating Kuroda's words, it is best to remember that he speaks from a position of a younger sibling who worships his older brother. I doubt anyone could be good enough for Asami-sama in his eyes."

When he finished, Akihito stood. His eyes didn't shimmer, but they were certainly downcast.

"Thank you, Kirishima-san. I do appreciate your help and protection."

Kirishima inclined his head. "It is my pleasure, Takaba-san."

That brought a tiny smile to Akihito's lips before he walked toward the bedroom.

"Takaba-san?"

Akihito turned halfway around and met Kirishima's gaze. A slight hesitation took Kirishima by surprise, but he pushed through it. "I won't take a bullet for everyone. It is best to keep that in mind when contemplating my words."

The smile widened. It was truly a treasure. "Thank you, Kirishima-san."

"You may call me Kei."

"Then you may call me, Akihito."

"Of course, Takaba-san." Kirishima bowed then and reclaimed his post at the front door.

* * *

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," Akihito ambushed Asami one night, meeting him at the door and waving what appeared to be the guest list. "You invited Feilong! Are you insane?"

Asami laughed and pecked Akihito on the lips as he passed, enjoying the fleeting warmth he felt against Akihito's cheek. "Feilong was instrumental in us getting together."

"He kidnapped me and made me his sex slave." Akihito gave chase, and only a slight tremble in his voice revealed his discomfort. "I can just hear him making snide comments about how my birthday suit is more adorable than my wedding day attire."

"You still text him."

"Because he has no one but Yoh and Tao."

Asami flung his jacket and then tie upon the bed, his belt joining them a few seconds later. "You like Tao, and you credit Yoh for saving you that day on the ship. Shouldn't they at least be part of our union?"

Easing on the bed and propping his arm upon a pillow, Akihito sighed as he once more assessed the list. "Y'know, they say exes at your wedding is a bad thing."

Asami regarded Akihito with a long gaze. The boy appeared absolutely delicious in his tight boxers and zip-up sweatshirt with bare feet, curled upon their bed. There was no image Asami enjoyed more coming home to, and he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through him. He let it fuel his teasing grin as he opened his pants and collared shirt.

"Perhaps I should worry about you. You were intimate with Feilong and contemplated his offer for you to stay in Hong Kong."

Akihito bristled instantly, crumpling the paper in his trembling hand. "I didn't! I mean, he asked me, but I never thought about it serious—wait. You've never had sex with Feilong?"

Asami made sure to hold Akihito's incredulous stare as he climbed onto the bed and crept over Akihito's prone body. He didn't speak until he could feel Akihito's breath upon his face. "No. I didn't. I told you that. Whatever Feilong thought we were, was in his mind. Did I attempt to help him rise in Baishe? Yes. Did I lead him on? Perhaps, but I never bedded him. I don't mix business and pleasure."

His golden eyes were hypnotizing, Akihito had told him, and the younger man whispered, "Fine. You can have your crime lord associate, but Yoh better keep him away from my parents. And I draw the line at Mikhail."

"Fine." Asami dove his lips against Akihito's and slowly eased down upon the younger man, careful not to jerk his arm too much. His fingers tugged down the jacket zipper to reveal Akihito's collarbone, and he enjoyed massaging it with his lips. He especially enjoyed Akihito's attempt at complete thoughts.

"I, uh, I didn't see Kuroda on the list."

Asami lifted his lips just long enough to reply. "He won't be attending."

Akihito sunk further into the plush bedding, a sigh deflating his body. "So…he's still adamant about me being bad for you, huh?"

The jacket fell open completely for Asami, the pink-brown nipples already hardening and peaking for Asami to pleasure. "I told him not to come."

"W—Why?" Akihito moaned, arching his body toward Asami's giving tongue. "He's your brother."

"Half-brother." Ah, goosebumps were always fun to lick, and he loved raising them on Akihito's skin. "And he ruined your life."

Akihito's fingers curled in his hair and jerked Asami's head up with a sharp sting. The hazel eyes pierced Asami to the core like no one else's could. "He ruined my career, not my life. Don't give him all the credit when you do a fine job yourself."

Asami smirked and laid his chin upon Akihito's chest, his fingers dimpling Akihito's hips. "You lost your job because of him. He made you nothing more than my fiancé. He forced you completely into my life, so he doesn't deserve to be there when we finally do what he wants."

Tears shimmered in the corners of Akihito's eyes, and Asami felt his heart tug. "Is that all I am to you? _Nothing more_ than your fiancé?"

"Of course not, but—"

With a sharp cry, Akihito threw Asami to the other side of the bed and pushed to his feet. "Y'know, I will get another job. Maybe not one in criminal photography, but I will work again."

"Of course you will, but—"

"This is just temporary until my arm heals." He hugged his elbow with his good hand. "You can't expect me to just sit at home all day like a good little househusband. You know I can't be that."

"Of course not, but—"

"What did you think was going to happen, Ryu?" He turned now, his face red and puffy from the tears that painted tracks down his face. "If we had stayed together, despite Kuroda's interference, something like this would have happened eventually. Or…or…were you planning on breaking up with me before then? Or breaking up when it did? Do you…Do you not want this?"

Asami sighed heavily before climbing to the edge of the bed. The vulnerability that oozed from Akihito in the form of sniffles and tears urged him to pat his lap. Akihito replied with a death glare that said nothing short than "I am not your damned househusband!" and the bed bounced when Akihito fell next to him. Asami's soft fingers navigated the mop of short hair, brushing the sodden bangs from the heated forehead.

"Can you explain how you got from my brother not attending our wedding to me not wanting to get married? That's a pretty far jump."

"I just…" Akihito's hair tickled Asami's chin when the boy buried his face in Asami's shirt. "I…want to make sure you're not doing this for the wrong reasons."

Akihito's unique aroma of cheap beer and mint soap engulfed Asami in a haze of lust, but he ruthlessly refused his release. "Akihito, look at me." The boy complied after a long moment, those demanding eyes still guarded. "When have you ever known me to do anything I don't want to?"

"Never."

"Then what would make you think I don't want to marry you? I proposed, didn't I?"

Akihito rolled his eyes. "In a 'well, since you can't do your job anymore, and it's my brother's fault, let's get married,' sorta way."

"So you'd rather me on bended knee with an engagement ring?"

"NO!" The boy's cheeks flustered a deeper crimson. "Of course not, but I don't want you to wake up ten years from now and resent me because you could have had gourmet mu shu pork and you settled for instant ramen."

Asami dragged his fingertips along Akihito's inner thigh, allowing a tender smile to find his lips. Perhaps he only allowed Akihito to see this. "I would be settling for the mu shu pork. I happen to like instant ramen much, much better, and I'm glad you chose sushi over mu shu pork."

Akihito snorted. "Sushi? Really?"

"You do like your sushi." He welcomed Akihito's hands curling about his collar, and he slowly pushed Akihito flat upon the bed before rolling on top. Before he delved into the proffered kiss, Asami whispered, his lips gliding across the supple skin of Akihito's cheek. "And in less than two weeks, everyone is going to know how much."

His finger trailed along the hardening cock pressing against the thin material of Akihito's boxers. Akihito's breath immediately hitched, but he leaned into the knowing touches, wrapping his good arm about Asami's head and sliding his hips back, so his pelvis resting against Asami's hand. His breath slicked Asami's neck, he somehow managed, even as his hips slid back and forth on their own, "Your brother should be there."

"No."

"Ryuichi…"

Asami ripped the cloth free from Akihito's legs and murmured against his cheek, "The instant ramen was a metaphor, right? Because I am not eating that for dinner every night."

Akihito looked up at him with widened, shimmering eyes, and Asami whispered, "You're dessert."

* * *

The incessant banging on his door drew Kuroda from the kitchen, and he wiped his hands in the damp dishtowel. He had been working half the day on this recipe for his date tonight, and he would have ignored the knocking if it would have stopped. But no. Three minutes straight, and it loudened until he had no choice but to throw open the door and yell, "WHAT!" right into the face of his soon-to-be brother-in-law.

Akihito smiled innocently in a way only Akihito could after being a royal pain in the ass. "Pack. You're coming to my wedding."

Shocked speechless, Kuroda couldn't refuse before Akihito slid between his shoulder and the door to enter the apartment. His thug of a bodyguard stayed outside, though he had glanced inside the apartment to deem it safe.

Kuroda caught his bearings as Akihito headed in the direction of his bedroom. "My brother commanded I don't even entertain the idea of showing up."

But Akihito didn't listen. When Kuroda entered the chaotic disturbance now known as his bedroom, he scowled at the suitcase already open on the bed, draped with wrinkled shirts and slacks. Akihito acted like Kuroda wasn't even there, the hangers screeching against the rod in his closet as Akihito chose only jeans and T-shirts to add to the pile.

"Are you listening to me?" Kuroda scowled. This kid was hopeless. "My brother doesn't want me there."

"But I do," Akihito replied with the snap of fact, "and since your brother gets to have Feilong, I get to have you. And you can sit on the non-gangster side of the aisle."

Disbelief stabbed Kuroda, and he slowly shook his head. "I shouldn't go. This is my brother's wedding day. I shouldn't upset—"

Akihito let out an exaggerated sigh before dragging his body before Kuroda. "One day, your brother is going to look back on our wedding pictures, and he's not going to be mad at you anymore. He'll most likely be grateful because you made that day happen, and he's going to feel awful that he banned you from it. I can't let that happen, so I'm going to shove your clothes into the suitcase and give you a plane ticket. It's coach because Kou's three credit card only had enough for that, and it's one way. So you're going to have pay your own way home, but I get to snicker behind Ryu's back for the next week."

Kuroda looked at the ticket that now hung between them, then at the hopeful look in the younger man's eyes. He bowed his head and took the smooth paper in his hands.

"I was wrong about you. You'll never be Ryuichi's equal, but _he's_ not worthy of _you_."

Akihito smacked Kuroda in the shoulder. "Well, duh. You're just realizing that now? I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him."

Kuroda smirked and pushed up his glasses. "Yes, you are."

"Good!" Akihito glanced back at the heaping mound of clothes flung on the suitcase and smiled. "You handle this 'cause I'm going to meet your brother for my first meeting out, and he's going to be pissed that I'm late."

Kuroda nodded, his jaw clenched with the staggering emotions within him. He barely got out a raw, "Akihito?"

Akihito turned in the doorway, throwing a tiny smile over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Thank you." _For everything_.

The smile grew until it brightened the boy's entire being. "You're welcome, Kuroda-san. See you in New York."

* * *

"Yeah, he's at the D.A.'s now." Nakahara leaned against the door to Kuroda's apartment, cell phone pressed against his ear. A rugged voice frayed his nerves, and the bodyguard heaved a laborious sigh. "Not yet. Details have been kept underwraps, but it shouldn't be long until I know something concrete."

The elevator dinged, and a man in a long, shiny trench coat entered the hallway. He sauntered in a soft, elegant stride before jingling his keys and heading to the apartment across from Kuroda's.

"Yeah, you'll be the first to know. …I said you would be. What? You think I'm going to tweet the info or put it up on Face—"

A simple twitch of the arm and a sneaked glance over a shoulder drew Nakahara's weapon to his hand, and when the man turned, knife gleaming in the low hallway light, Nakahara pulled the trigger on his silenced pistol without heed. The man—the assassin—fell dead.

"That is, of course, if the kid lives that long. You're not the only one who wants to slice him and dice him in front of Asami."

He listened for a few more moments before replying, "Da."

To Be Continued…

"**The Hardest Thing"**

**Chapter Five: Takaba Akihito is Engaged to Asami Ryuichi.**


	6. TA is Married to AR

"**The Hardest Thing"**

**Chapter Six: Takaba Akihito is Married to Asami Ryuichi**

Tsukino's haughty face, leering and proud, vied with the sharp pain that cut through Akihito's shoulder and awoke him from a fitful sleep. He shot upward in bed, his heart thundering in his ears, the chilling bray of Tsukino's laughter fading like a ghost's whisper. The darkness and unfamiliarity of the western-styled room quickened Akihito's breath. His frantic eyes darted for some sort of familiarity in the world of elegant foreignness and uncertainty, and fear pierced him like a jagged blade.

He was sold. He must have been. Mikhail had never shot Tsukino, and instead, Tsukino sold him to the highest bidder. Now he warmed some gangster's bed, waiting for his _master_ to—

Large, warm—familiar!—hands slid over his thigh and under the three-sizes-too-big dress shirt, finding natural purchase upon his hips. Akihito immediately melted into Asami's embrace, ensconced in his lover's scent of cigarettes, cologne, and man. Asami's arms secured him in an unrelenting hold, and the feather light touch of his lips dusted his crown.

Burrowed against his love and content to live in those arms forever, Akihito allowed sleep to reclaim him.

* * *

The red lights on the dark walls pumped the adrenaline through Akihito's body and brought a nervous giggle to his lips. He pressed his back against the wall and held his breath as the red beam of a target drew closer. He nodded toward Kou, who positioned himself on the other side of the entrance, and they shared an anticipatory grin. No doubt, they had this sucker right where they wanted. As the person came through the doorway, they pounced, firing in rapid succession and gaining an angered growl from Takato, who slapped his jeans.

"Dudes! That's the third time you've shot me! I'm on your team!"

The shout provided the necessary distraction, and Sudoh, Mitarai, and Kuroda swarmed them, blasting their chest plates and rendering the game over.

Sudoh blew the end of his blaster's nozzle as if it smoked. "And toast. Y'know, it hardly seems fair to keep beating you three. It's like shooting reporters in the middle of a gang war."

Akihito glared at the slightly older man, who wielded a laser gun as precisely as a real one. Mitarai and Kuroda came forward, the latter wearing jeans, a T-shirt that read, "I *heart* NY," and sneakers, while Mitarai donned his journalistic gear complete with work vest, undershirt, and jeans. Designer pants over a pure black shirt bestowed an air of sophistication and prestige to Sudoh, who's smirk grew with each passing moment.

"You're not funny, Shuu," Akihito growled and motioned toward his arm. "Y'know—"

"—'if my arm wasn't still healing...' we get it," Kuroda finished with a sneer. "I think you're overselling your laser tag skills."

"And I think you need to shut your mouth since my shoulder is still healing because of you."

Kuroda heaved a labored sigh. "When are you going to let that go?"

"I don't know." Akihito legitimately pondered. "I think that's good for a lifetime worth of guilt."

"Really?" Sudoh's face brightened with maniacal glee. "Then fork up some guilt, Aki. You owe it to me."

"That was barely a scratch."

"The bullet almost hit my liver."

Akihito snorted. "Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades—"

"—nuclear weapons and farts!" Kou added.

Mitarai looked less than pleased as he recharged his blaster on the wall sensor. "How many more games do we still have?"

Kou shrugged, leaning his blaster against his shoulder. "I rented it for only two hours, but the guy at the desk said someone brought out the place for the night. So we can go as many times as we want."

Whooping, Akihito snagged Kuroda and Sudoh and headed toward their respective end. "Let's make it Winners Versus Losers!"

"Looks more like 'Evil Versus Good,'" Mitarai snorted.

Akihito whirled and pulled the trigger over and over, but with the game over, nothing discharged. "Damnit!" he shouted before stomping off toward his starting position.

"So who came up with the idea for laser tag?" Sudoh asked, coming up behind Akihito. "It's kinda nice to shoot people without having to drag their heavy corpses after."

"Or having to come up with a legitimate excuse for their death," Kuroda added.

"True. True."

Akihito rolled his eyes. "Must you talk shop? It's my bachelor party!"

Sudoh shrugged. "I give it five, six years top."

"I don't know. Asami-sama seems pretty smitten with him."

"Or at least with his mouth."

"Guys!" Akihito flushed a deep, dark crimson.

Sudoh shrugged. "Sakagaki would know."

"Hey!" Akihito whirled and pointed his gun at each them, starting with Kuroda. "You're here because of me and Kou's multiple credit cards, so shhh! And you. Sakagaki indicated you suck him off every other Tuesday, so you don't comment on my experiences."

Sudoh and Kuroda's brief, commiserating gazes drew long sighs. "Don't you just hate when he goes all investigative reporter on you?"

"Absolutely. Perhaps he's in need of a few refreshments to loosen him up."

"Or at least your brother's finger."

Kuroda's face scrunched. "Y'know, he and I are working on boundaries when it comes to my brother's sex life. Perhaps we should discuss those."

Akihito sighed and shook his head, though he couldn't say the night wasn't all kinds of surreal. Here he stood with his fiancé's underling, a man who once ordered his beating, and his fiancé's brother, who just revealed to the world his relationship with a suspected crime lord. In less than a week, he'd be getting married-_married!-_to the aforementioned crime lord, whom he met while investigating his business.

So much had happened in the two years he'd known Asami. His life had done a complete one-eighty, and somehow, the lines blurred between right and wrong. These men were evil, sold illegal goods and drugs, but they didn't seem like demons here. Here, they were his friends.

The overhead speakers squeaked to life, and a foreign language rambled before a large horn sounded.

Akihito glanced toward Kuroda, who translated for him, "The game's been restarted."

"So what's on tap after this?" Sudoh asked with a casual smile as they began their prowl.

Akihito flashed a wicked smile that spilled into his eyes. "Ooh, I think Shiji'll be pleasantly surprised."

* * *

The cigar smoke rose in an impressive volume as the gangsters relaxed in old, wing-back chairs, a cognac of an incredible age between them. Crisp cards slapped the table, and fresh chips clanged into a rapidly increasing pile. Stoic bodyguards encircled the table that only fit four, men dressed in impeccable suits with serious countenances, and a timid dealer. The men unsettled the rest of the patrons, who abruptly left, but a few bills slipped into the owner's pocket silenced any complaints.

Asami sucked in a long, drawn drag before opening his mouth and allowing the smoke to filter through with a pleased sigh. "I'm a quicker shot than both of you gentlemen, so the present conversation will cease immediately."

Mikhail snorted at the obvious shock and subsequent anger upon Feilong's once calm face. The triad leader narrowed his purple eyes to jab, "Quicker shot, perhaps, but you'd have to reach your gun first."

"Which one?"

Feilong's laugh was breathless. "Are you flirting with me, Asami?"

"Stating a fact." Asami rolled the smoky liquor across his tongue before replying. "I protect my things, Feilong. I won't tolerate his and my estrangement again."

Mikhail tossed back a shot before gracing the pot with a few chips. "We get it. We get it. Ya peed on your territory enough, Ryuichi. Now, we need to get back to the subject at hand. It's one of the most important days of your life, and I saved the little punk how many times now?"

"After you put Akihito in more danger." Feilong's toiled with the edge of his long braid, snapping on a tie and throwing it over his shoulder. "You allowed your subordinate to abuse and strangle him. Not to mention you shot one of _my_ subordinates right in front of him." A handful of clips hit the pile. "Call."

"Hey. The kid is marrying a crime lord. He's going to have to get used to bloodshed, and Ryuichi shot Yuri and my other minion multiple time. So you might want to attend some anger management classes there, comrade." Mikhail threw in the last of his chips before snapping at the bartender and pointing toward his empty glass. "But Yuri received the end he deserved, and now you're punishing me."

Feilong snorted a short laugh. "You're pouting because you're not invited?"

"I fly all the way from Moscow to help you clean up this whole trafficking mess, and you don't even invite me to your wedding. That just rude, and y'know, you both might be quicker to the draw, but I last a whole lot longer."

They slapped down the cards, and Asami took a smug sip of his whiskey as the dealer stacked the chips in front of him. "Because you're impotent or because you still carry a flamethrower for Feilong?"

"Hey, you should be happy your kitten was not type, or I would have enjoyed—"

A lovely dagger caught the overhead light with a blinding shimmer, its hilt steady in Feilong's perfect hands. "I think you'll enjoy another asshole."

Tensions rose as silence prevailed, and Feilong's eyes flicked back, though they never met that of the man behind him with short hair and a dangerous air. Asami, himself, enjoyed the naked play of emotions between both men, Yoh having found himself comfortable in Feilong's private and professional life. Mikhail, however, shifted in a disgruntled nature, but before he could verbally attack again, Asami put up a commanding hand.

Kirishima leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Asami took one last inhale of his cigar and stood, buttoning his jacket. "Gentlemen, our entertainment for the evening has arrived at his business establishment. Perhaps we should pay him a visit."

Mikhail downed his drink with one gulp while Feilong stood and slipped his arms into the long dress coat Yoh offered. Asami stubbed out his cigar and motioned to the dealer to distribute the chips among the remaining workers. "And gentlemen—I assure you that the kitten in question is part of a rare and invaluable breed. Neither of you are worthy of his pleasure."

"And neither are you," Feilong pointed out, eyes narrowed with unwavering truth.

Asami's eyes responded with dangerous tolerance before they slipped closed and bowed his head in agreement. He always accused Akihito of touching fire, but it was truly he who touched purity with a dirty hand.

"Oh, and Takaba-kun didn't want you at the ceremony," Feilong spat.

Mikhail perked up. "Are you kidding me? That ungrateful, little—"

Asami jerked a shoulder, uninterested as he checked his phone. "Don't make me send you back to Siberia in parts."

"You hurt me so." Understanding dawned in Mikhail's widened eyes as Asami felt the man's astonished gaze, which quickly slid into a wicked smile. "So tell us, Ryuichi. Who tops?"

* * *

"This is juvenile," Kuroda muttered, his voice flat as he refused to inhale. "There is no way I'm doing this."

The elegant hallway with marble flooring and golden walls led to a thick wooden door that shimmered in the low overhead light. Crown-molding upon the door screamed wealth and prestige, though not as loudly as Ryuichi's own entry. It was partially why Akihito didn't fear any repercussions as he stood by the elevator with his foot inside the doorway, a sagging paper bag in his hand.

He snorted. "Please. This is one of Ryuichi's biggest competitors. We should at least say hi while we're in New York. It's the considerate thing to do."

Kuroda hesitated. "He's going to be mad."

"So?" Akihito increased his smile just enough to playful but forceful. "Isn't that the point?"

"_Ryuichi_ will be mad. I don't care about this guy."

The soft tone of uncertainty infuriated Akihito, and he thrust the bag into Kuroda's reluctant hands. "Then what are you waiting for? It's not like Ryu's not mad at you already."

"But—But this is—"

Akihito slipped the silver, personalized lighter into Kuroda's pocket. The older man dug it out and flipped it about, reading the inscription, "To my husband, everything."

Kuroda's wondering eyes questioned more than his voice, and heat burned Akihito's cheeks red. He ruffled the back of his hair and allowed his annoyance to creep through. "Will you just do it already? Kou could've lit three in the time it's taken you to _decide_ to light one."

With a bracing breath, Kuroda turned toward the door and inched forward, as if he feared it would swing open at any moment. His hand shaking, he dropped the paper bag on the stoop and after three rubs of the lighter, brushed the flame across the edge of the bag.

"Come on! Come on!" Akihito hissed, and Kuroda banged on the door before jetting back.

The door opened. "Hey! Hey, what are you—!"

Akihito couldn't help the giggles that spilled from his lips, and a bubble of pride surged through him at the wide smile upon Kuroda's face as an older man with carrot hair stamped the fire out on the bag, only for dog poo to now mold about his designer soles.

Kuroda positioned his thumb of the door closed button as Akihito swung out, "Hey! Mr. Trump! That's the thanks you get for not sending a present!"

The door clang shut, and Kuroda and Akihito broke into a fit of laughs, the two of them leaning against the door, their shoulders touching. Akihito watched the older man, Kuroda's joy mimicking Ryuichi's in a moment of vulnerability, of relaxation, when he let himself live.

Kuroda's eyes shifted to his, still bright and excited. "What's next? Can we do that to Jay-Z?"

"Whoa. Down there, boy. Don't get ahead of yourself. First, we do flaming poo in a bag. Next, we do the trash can water ditch."

"And I thought Ryuichi was evil."

* * *

In the dark office, the Empire State Building glimmered brightly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the crimson that ran steadily from Feilong's blade. He slashed his way through the armed guards, Yoh against his back with his own blade and gun. It was during these simple moments with the warmth of his second-in-command and lover fighting for honor and life that Feilong enjoyed the most. Where once only heartless revenge ruled his every waking moment, a giddy warmth, he'd dare say, fueled his warrior spirit. He indulged himself in a deep inhale of sweet cologne and stinging curry as he whirled to throw one of his daggers into a man's chest, and he hardly exhaled with an accomplished sigh before Yoh's stern hand jerked his chin up and their lips met in quick but igniting embrace.

"Foreplay already, Liu? I thought we agreed to keep tonight strictly professional."

The sharp, crimson-stained blade swiped past Yoh's face. "Then keep your hands to yourself."

"I would if you wouldn't kill people with such flare. You know what that does to me." A gentle caress undid Feilong, and if not for the lunging Italian-American mobster, Feilong would have lunged himself.

With Yoh by his side, his power in Hong Kong and throughout China was never stronger, his business never finer run, and his bonds with Mikhail and even Asami had strengthened. He wouldn't call them "friends," but they somehow had become allies.

The calculated assault was personal, Feilong knew, which was why Asami only brought his closest assistants and allies. Mikhail and his closest underling, a brute named Bronislav, tore through the hallway, taking down the remaining gangsters with no less than two bullets apiece.

"Arbatov's trying too hard," Feilong snorted.

"Not yet. Only once he—oh, there goes the first appendage."

Upon the intimidating desk of the office sat Asami, one leg higher than the other as the man they'd come to visit sat in the desk chair, only his trembling eyes revealing his disconcertion. Of course, the frightening sharp knife Asami held probably had something to do with the man's fear. "You are a hard man to get a meeting with, De Luca. My men have been trying for quite some time."

"Scheduling conflicts, I assure you, Asami-sama." His baritone voice remained stern, though his eyes never deviated from the glimmering blade. "My secretary will be fired immediately for not clearing a time for you, so this meeting would not be necessary."

"Don't worry. We took care of her for you." He slid the knife over the back of his hand before gripping it by the hilt. "And this meeting is completely necessary."

"I don't see why."

"Well, I certainly can't stab you over the phone, can I? And you stopped taking my calls. I was starting to feel like you didn't want to see me anymore. So, you must have taken up with Tsukino or Eto, as their distributor in New York."

"No. No! Asami-sama, I would never—"

Asami waved the knife. "Never say never, De Luca, especially when my men are right now raiding your warehouses, taking back _my_ workers and then burning your men alive."

Even in the bright blue lights of the Empire State Building, the man's face blanched until his tan skin was pure white.

"But you—you don't deserve a merciful death like theirs. No, you deserve something far worse for buying and selling people like they're the blue light special."

Feilong rolled his eyes, though he was mildly impressed about where Asami stabbed the man. Of course, the girlish scream that De Luca released was so high pitched that after a few moments, only dogs could hear him.

Asami gently shushed De Luca, his fingers coiling about the man's chin to keep his shaking head steady. "Oh, did that hurt? Don't worry. It'll only get worse."

The doors to the office opened with a resounding bang, and Mikhail whirled toward the assaulting Italian bodyguard who lifted a semi-automatic weapon. Mikhail beat him to the trigger, firing a barrage of bullets that leveled the intruder.

Mikhail glowered at Asami. "Now am I invited to your wedding?"

* * *

"It's like I predicted. Your _fiancé_ has been cleaning house," Mitarai murmured as he huddled over a bottle of domestic brew. He took a sip, then grunted with a stuck-out tongue. "Ugh. Americans drink this? It tastes like cold piss. What good is having a rich bastard as your lover if you don't even get good beer?"

Akihito stole a long swig of his own beer, the cool liquid a bit harsher upon his tongue than his usual drink, but it was simply another reminder of how surreal this whole night—his whole relationship with Asami—truly was.

In the small club room Kou rented, Sudoh grinded against an oiled and scantily dressed man with lickable abs and a well-endowed lower section. He threw his arm up like a cowboy, his pelvis flat against the taller man's supple ass. Kou followed a similarly tight woman with a massive top section about a slick pole, the tight girl's smile alluring as she slid a jello shot along her cleavage.

Kuroda sat in the corner next to Nakahara, flipping through his phone and texting. Nakahara watched the entire party with a stringent eye, and he nodded every so often to the guards placed strategically about the room. They were most likely hand-picked by Suoh and thus, were some of Asami's best men. So far, they hadn't interfered too much with his fun—other than Nakahara bitching at him for ditching them and having his friends play distraction as he and Kuroda pranked Trump—and for that, he was grateful. His guards shouldn't suffocate him this one night.

Akihito snorted at the game of compromise his life had become and met Mitarai's intense gaze again. "So Ryuichi found the people responsible for the trafficking ring in his clubs?"

"And then some. He's been on the trail of the distribution lines into Europe, mainland Asia. Rumor has it he's away from Tokyo hunting down one of the last pipelines and freeing the victims who have already been distributed."

Akihito smirked against his bottle. "Not a bad cover story."

"It's fucking brilliant, actually. He takes down the traffickers, and everyone is worried they're next that they forget about you and the union." Mitarai shrugged and resituated in his chair, fierce wonder burning his gaze. "Asami Ryuichi destroying the scum of humanity? I've never thought of him as being an upstanding citizen before."

"He's full of surprises." Akihito took another sip and glanced over his shoulder at Takato, who uncharacteristically sat alone, sipping his third beer and looking miserable at a corner table. "Any word on Eto?"

"Nothing. He seems to have disappeared completely. I've been watching his business, though. Lots of exports to Europe."

"Another outlet," Akihito whispered.

"We might have cut off a head, but another grows back. We'll have to stab the heart."

Akihito stood then and patted Mitarai on the shoulder before crossing the floor toward Takato, whose melancholy eyes flashed toward him as he took a seat. "Hey, you. I know you're the stereotypical married man of the group, but geez. No need to nope at the fun Kou's having." He leaned down to whisper, "The girl over there is not hot with two t's."

"Maybe not to you," Takato laughed before red-rim eyes pinned Akihito to his seat. "Are you—Are you sure about marrying a crime lord? Is this really what you want?"

An uncomfortable pit settled deep in his gut, igniting a small burn through his abdomen. "You were the one who told me to give myself to him completely. You told me the rest didn't matter."

"That was before Kuroda-san told me about your time in China. It was worse than you told us, wasn't it? You left out a lot of stuff, like the fact you were some douche's _housepet_."

The darkness of the club room hid Akihito's fierce blush as a contrary ice cold feeling slithered through him. "Look, Takato—"

"Don't rationalize or bullshit your way out of this. The reason you're so against this human trafficking ring is because you were one step away from being sold by one of Ryuichi's enemies, weren't you? And so you'll run this into the ground no matter who it hurts because you need to make sure no one ever feels like you did for that month you were with that long-haired dude."

Akihito chewed his lower lip and wished he had some good sake to numb the gnawing anxiety. Tears stained tracks down his cheeks, and he took a swig of his beer just so he didn't have answer right away. He hated remembering those first few weeks with Feilong, and for a moment, he hated Takato for making him relive them.

"Feilong…He's not that bad of a guy. Really. He was…hurt, when I first got there. Lashing out at anyone and everyone just to get at Asami, who he thought killed his—"

"You're making excuses for a human trafficker!"

"Will you just listen to me!" Akihito snarled. "Feilong doesn't traffic people. He knows those who do, but he's not into that. He's more into drugs and weapons and stuff."

"And that makes it okay?" The sardonic tone was one of the harshest he'd ever heard from his best friend, and Akihito's darkened eyes digested the cold scowl, the jittering eyes, and the fine gleam of sweat.

"I—I know it was wrong of me to use you as my source…numerous times. I know it frightened you, especially with your daughter." Thick tears slipped down Takato's cheeks, and Akihito snatched his hand. "That's why you didn't bring your wife and child to my wedding, but I'm glad you came. A—And this is good for me, Takato. Really. I love him, and it's better if everyone knows it. This will protect me in some ways."

"And put a bull's eye on your back in others. A—Aki…" Takato squeezed back, fear alive in his wretched eyes. "I-I can't lose my best friend."

"You won't. I promise." They stared at each other for long moment before Akihito threw up his hand. "Tequila!"

* * *

The warm sun rays cradled Akihito's face in a peaceful glow of comfort, and he sighed, allowing the tension to melt from his strained and aching muscles. He must have looked foolish, lying upon a small spot of lawn before the pond where not just the passersby who skated, walked, or ran through the weaving paths of Central Park could see his limp, bedraggled body but also his bodyguards, without whom he could have never left the Plaza's penthouse. His new life as Asami Ryuichi's partner was just beginning, and questions he feared to ask he now dared to before uncertainties became truths and the inevitable became too unbearable.

He stole a few moments to himself, and the world, Tokyo, and the human traffickers burned in the warmth of the sun's touch.

A whine of protest ticked in Akihito's throat as a cold shadow slithered over his being—what did his bodyguards want now?—and he opened his heavy eyes to see a person looking down upon him, his lover's face stoic to only those who feared to look beyond the harsh front of a crime lord.

"You promised Yoh would keep Feilong away from parents."

"Is that the reason you ran away before finalizing tonight's rehearsal dinner?"

Asami's indulgent chuckle rose Akihito's eyes, and his lips followed Asami's in a soft smile. His eyes then dropped to the bag in the Asami's hand, a shimmering shopper's tote.

Akihito tried not to stare at the bag and instead dropped his head backwards, his eyes drifting shut. "So Feilong restarted my parents' 'Are you sure you want to do this' train and they've taken Takato aboard with them."

Akihito held in his shocked gasp as Asami came to lay next to him upon the grass, his face gazing thoughtfully at the light blue sky. Those steady fingers sought his, and Asami knotted them together, the sun's warmth no match for their own.

Akihito lifted up their knocked fingers and pressed a tender kiss to Asami's knuckles. "Who are Tanaka Akira and Ryoku?" Even though Akihito felt Asami's unabashed gaze measuring him, Akihito focused upon the wispy clouds on their promenade across the sky. "I found the marriage certificate."

"I wanted to make it legal." Asami's thumb massaged the fleshy pad of the crook of his hand.

"Why does that matter so much to you? Isn't it enough that we have this?" To prove his point, Akihito squeezed their hands together tighter, but his breath caught in his chest, where his heart died just a little at the sheer naked tenderness that Asami offered in his affectionate gaze.

"Akihito…" Asami leaned over, using his free hand to brush the curtain of bangs from Akihito's eyes. "You've given yourself completely to me. It's time for me to return to the gesture."

"I always had you."

"Perhaps," Asami relented. "Then indulge me as I celebrate my acquiring of you."

"Like a merger?"

"If you wish to believe it so."

Akihito stuck out his tongue, though he couldn't help the swelling of his smile and the delicious warmth that was somehow becoming routine. Would this always be a constant in his life, the heartbreakingly poignant fondness that Asami allowed him to see? He became lost in these moments and leaned into the gentle stroking upon his forehead and cheek, in the feel of flesh against flesh and the familiar touch that he never remembered how he lived without.

Asami spoiled Akihito with a lengthy, savoring embrace before he sat up suddenly. "I brought you a present."

Akihito forgot about the shiny black bag until Asami thrust the bag into his hands, demanding it take his full attention, and Akihito complied, pulling out the scrunchy paper with a fury of excitement. His mouth dropped open at the heavy item in his hands.

"You brought me a bulletproof vest?!"

Asami popped up Akihito's chin to close his mouth. "Yes. Though the reception will undoubtedly be secure, there is always room for mishaps. I would hate to bloody your brand-new tuxedo. It'll probably be the only one I will get you to wear—" His smirk turned wicked. "—however short the time will be."

"N—No. I can't." He shoved it back into Asami's hands with trembling force. "I won't, not with my parents, my friends—"

"—will be fine. My enemies care very little about them, I assure you. The only person any assassin will target is you." He shushed Akihito's soft whisper, drawing Akihito close again with a gentle pet and accosting pressure on the back of his neck. "And you can think of it as your something blue."

Akihito hit him hard, knocking Asami flat against the ground. He cocked his head to the side as the unconscious allure Asami presented in that position, and he freed his camera quickly. Asami hadn't recovered before Akihito snapped the shot, and the picture stole Akihito's breath. In his ruffled polo shirt and casual, airy hairstyle, Asami looked like a model who had been caught off guard in a photo shoot. In the grass, he appeared comfortable, like at home on his own lawn, almost normal in his domesticity, but the rapt expression was naked, unguarded in a way Akihito had never been able to capture Asami in his viewfinder. His lover stared back at him with absolute trust and pleasure.

The world stopped. The whirlwind of the undeniable attraction, stubborn uncertainty, and harsh reality finally drowned in this single moment where Akihito accepted the inevitability of what they were, perhaps what they had always had been but he refused to see. Any lingering uncertainty vanished as he lowered his camera and dove between the man's open thighs to lie upon Asami's torso. His dry lips sought Asami's until they were wet and swollen, and when they broke, Akihito's own mischievous smile dimpled his cheeks.

"I brought you something, too."

Asami blinked. "Oh?"

Akihito dipped into his pocket and tugged out a garter, and Asami's deep laugh shook his entire body.

* * *

As Kuroda shut the heavy oak door of the groom chambers, his neck prickled, and he whirled to see Asami standing in the doorway of the "bridal chambers," dressed in an impeccable suit with a vibrant blue carnation—a cheap flower he guessed Akihito chose—his hair styled and handsome. Those harsh eyes condemned Kuroda, and he spoke before he was admonished like a younger brother once more.

"Akihito invited me."

"_Akihito_, hm?"

Was there amusement in that deep voice, a smirk starting upon those pale lips?

"Yes. He and I have come to understanding. He is a worthy brother-in-law and a good friend, and he wished me here on his wedding day."

"So that's why the brat's been cheeky all week. I should have known it was more than his uncertainty about our union." The wicked smirk was back, and in matters of business and finance, Kuroda knew that smirk was dangerous, deadly even. But now, it was born from joy.

Still, a frown darkened Kuroda's face. "Uncertainty, Oniisan? I assure you, there is none behind this door." He motioned behind him where Akihito currently changed into his wedding attire.

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

Those fierce gold eyes burned with an intensity few had seen, and Asami-sama embraced him swiftly, tucking Kuroda under his chin. A swelling of delight rose in Kuroda as he relished these few and brief embraces, and when Asami pulled away, a kind smile found his lips.

"Thank you for coming, Shiji."

"The pleasure is mine, Oniisan."

* * *

The day swept by in chaotic frenzy of ties and flowers and guns, Asami's men a presence in the background but not obstructive to the festivities. Akihito glided from one situation to another, a peaceful composition overtaking his usually frustrated being. He no longer cared that Feilong and Mikhail stood in the back of the living room of the Royal Plaza Suite, chatting amongst themselves with Yoh watching, jealousy lost to his unwavering presence at Feilong's side and the gentle hand glued to Feilong's lower back. Even Tao remained a continuous presence in Feilong's life, his nose pressed against the window and staring at the New York City skyline.

Good. Let them bear witness.

Akihito's friends mingled with Asami's business partners, fitting almost seamlessly into Asami's life like he had. The awkwardness was brief as Kou chatted up one particularly tightly-wound businesswoman who actually looked interested in his friend. Takato sat off to the side, just staring into nothing. Akihito wanted to excuse himself from his current conversation, but his parents refused to release him from their clawed clutches as they asserted one last time, even as he stood waiting by the Justice of the Peace, that he was making the biggest mistake of his life.

Their arguments died the moment Asami stepped into the room with Kuroda, Suoh, and Kirishima at his side. In fact, everyone's conversations came to an abrupt end, and the ceremony began. Still, Akihito couldn't help but whisper under the words of the justice, "I was beginning to think you stood me up."

Asami chuckled, "You couldn't be that lucky."

Forgoing the sling, Akhito's hands clung to Asami's, his eyes never wavering from the man's intangible hold upon him. Asami's eyes flickered south for a moment, and Akihito wanted to hit him—here? Really? In the middle of their wedding—when Asami freed one hand to undo the knot of Akihito's tie and tug the silk free from his neck. He opened the collar a few buttons and flattened the edges.

"It doesn't suit you," Asami explained.

Akihito rolled his eyes. "Would you rather have me in a tank top and jeans?"

Leaning leaned forward abruptly, Asami whispered against his ear, the warm breath stirring Akihito's cock, "You are much more adorable in your birthday suit."

An intense blush stole his cheeks, and Akihito snatched Asami's tie and tugged his lips down, so Akihito could claim them for himself. The heated embrace lasted longer than socially accepted, but Akihito cared little as he marked his territory before Feilong, Mikhail, and even his friends. It took him years to accept his role in their attraction, to define whatever _this_ was between them, and he knew now he had choice in this. He would embrace this love, and they'd descend together.

At some time during their embrace, the justice had stopped talking and now looked positively pissed, his head cocked to the side to regard them with a dark frown. "Would you like to skip to the ending?"

Akihito's murmur brushed Asami's warm lips. "Story of our life."

He continued to press against Asami to hide the noticeable bulge that he felt in his slacks, but Asami's embrace secured him like it had so many times in their lives. He accepted the ring upon his fourth finger with a giddy laugh, Asami's cheek pressed against his styled blond hair, and then Asami pressed a kiss to the strands when Akihito slid Asami's ring onto the man's finger. They clenched their hands once more, belonging to each other now for all to see.

"If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Akihito was sure his mother would speak up in a tirade that would plague both their house, but she sat quietly in her seat, her tears flowing not from frustration but from…happiness? Perhaps seeing their intimate embrace, how polar opposites attract each other, made her realize why he needed this. Asami proposed, but Akihito sought this union just as vehemently.

Even Feilong watched with an amusement of sorts, his usual air of pissy sophistication lost in the merriment, and Akihito let out a tiny sigh of relief. No one dared to stand in their way.

He smiled up at Asami, the man's own face alive with wonder and contentment, and Akihito couldn't contain the wide smile that was so exhilarating that his head spun and his stomach lifted.

"Mine," he whispered.

Asami pressed a tender kiss to his knuckles. "Forever."

The doors crashed against the walls of the living room, tearing the fragile cocoon of joyous celebration, and as Akihito whirled toward the intruders, he hardly processed the black-clad men in military commando gear before a sharp pain pierced his torso, a violent force dragging him to the ground. The pain morphed into a burning agony, his breath quick and constricted, and sucking in a deep inhale felt like a dagger stuck him in the side. Even his shoulder joined in the misery, bleeding into his white shirt and aching for attention.

His eyesight blurred, his body numbing save the pain, but Nakahara was there, wrapping his thick arm under Akihito's armpits, ready to hoist him to his feet.

"Go!" Asami ordered, crunching by Akihito's feet, protecting his husband with his body. "Get Akihito out of here now!"

"No!" Akihito gasped, then winced. It _hurt_.

"This isn't a discussion. Go, Nakahara!"

So much for better or worse.

Nakahara hauled Akihito to his feet, and though Akihito attempted as best he could to see his parents and friends, Nakahara half-carried, half-tugged him away from the thundering gunfire and bloody exchange, through the dining room and into the oval foyer. He collapsed onto the floor of the service elevator, quasi-sitting and hissing and tugging at his shirt, but Nakahara's brute hands tore it open to find the bullet imbedded in the vest. The older man sighed in obvious relief before he undid the Velcro and freed Akihito's torso of the restrictive clothing. An ugly bruise already started to form, and Akihito wrapped an arm about his ribs, the crippling pain even more severe without a support.

"What are you doing? There might still be assassins out there."

Nakahara's rumbling laugh was dark and humorless. He spoke in a language Akihito couldn't translate but one he still heard in the most frightening nightmares.

Russian. Nakahara spoke Russian.

Then the bodyguard straightened his legs as Akihito's head slowly shook "no," and a zip-tie landed in Akihito's lap. The cold barrel of a gun found his cheek.

"Zip your wrists together. We're going on a little ride."

Akihito stared up at him, allowed his prideful eyes to burn with contempt. "Asami won't let you get away with this. He'll hunt you down and skin you alive. You know that."

"You should be more worried about yourself. My boss has…detailed plans on how to deal with you, and Takeda's assassins provided the perfect cover. Now zip your hands, or I'll do it for you. I assure you. I won't be as gentle."

The fierce betrayal stung Akihito more than the bruise in his side. Elevators and he really didn't have a good track record, and Akihito resolved to stay in first-floor rooms in the future, but for now, he stuck his hand through the loop and tugged the tie tight with his teeth.

"Good boy," Nakahara purred before hauling Akihito to his feet and burying the gun against his hip. "You scream, you yell, you do anything to annoy me, and you won't be jumping from rooftops for a long time."

The elevator dinged to signal the ground floor, and Nakahara dragged him into the bustling hall of maids and butlers and waiters. Only a few short hallways brought them to the exit door, and a limo idled in the alley behind the Plaza, a single guard holding the door open.

"Should I be flattered that my kidnapper thought I should ride in luxury?" Akihito spat, which earned him a sharp slap on the ass.

"Shut up."

"Oh, come on. I have the right to know who's kidnapping me and thank him—or her!—accordingly. Is it Mikhail? His new right hand man? The man who runs the corner deli not too far from here? He makes great sandwiches. You should really try the—"

Nakahara shoved the gun barrel deeper into his gut. "What part of, 'do not annoy me,' didn't you understand?"

"Well, that was a lost cause, Nakahara-san. You've been my bodyguard how long now? You should have known that." Akihito attacked Nakahara with his brightest, sugar-coated smile that just oozed sarcastic sweetness, and the sudden shift of clothes and bodies allowed Akihito to grab the gun and point it down as he delivered a swift kick to Nakahara's shin. The older man let out a sharp cry, and the second man lunged in time to meet Akihito's knee.

Thanking Suoh for the awesome self-defense lessons, Akihito took off toward the bustling city street. At the late evening, the sidewalk was packed with foodies and travelers and city-goers, and he slipped into the crowd that led into the subway.

Huffing, he ducked behind one of the dingy girders and glanced up at the signs. They were in English, he assumed, but he could read nothing, and he fumbled with his tied wrists. Despite the stabbing pain of his shoulder and torso, he wiggled his phone out of his pocket. He hit speed dial one and placed the phone to his ear only for the whip of the wind to slap his cheek as the subway screeched into the station, and a hard hand seized the back of his jacket. As he was tugged against a hard chest, a muscular arm wrapped about his waist; hot breath slicked the back of his neck.

"You will pay dearly for that, brat."

The words could have been said any other night from his own lover—husband!—but coming from Nakahara, they were an ominous warning of painful but not pleasurable things to come, as was the gun situated just above his scrotum.

He elbowed Nakahara in the stomach and threw his head back, knocking into the man's chin. The gun dislodged, and Akihito chose it over the phone, whirling away from Nakahara and aiming the weapon with certain precision. As the subway hurried out of the station, leaving them alone upon the platform, Akihito watched the kneeling man closely.

"Move on inch, and you won't move again."

"You little shit," Nakahara breathed, a hand upon his scrunched face. "You just can't do anything quietly, can you?"

"It's one of my charms. Now throw the phone over to me."

"No."

Akihito's chin jerked back an itch. "No? You see I'm holding your gun in my hand, don't you?"

"But you still don't have any power." Nakahara smirked now, despite the pain in his eyes. "I've known you quite some time now, Takaba-kun. You don't have what it takes to pull that trigger. So, what we're going to do is go up those stairs, meet my fellow courier, and go have a nice talk with my boss."

"And just who is your boss?"

"Well, that's a mystery you won't know until we're there, but I assure you. You and he have met before." His smirk demonized. "He won't be able to keep his hands off of you."

The strangling fear returned full force, slithering up Akihito's spine with a fervent chill, but the gun never wavered from his hand, adrenaline keeping it steady. "Nah, I'll pass. Instead, we're going to wait here until the cops or Ryuichi arrives. For your sake, I'm hoping the cops, but I won't be heartbroken if it's my husband."

Nakahara breathed a begrudging laugh. "Husband. Huh. How long do you think that'll last? I'm thinking another…three seconds."

An express subway rushed through the tunnel, the intense whip of the wind was an effective distraction for Nakahara to reach his second holster. The screeching of the subway almost hid the violent crackle of gunfire, and Akihito lowered his smoking gun, his breath caught deep in his chest at the staining pool that leaked from Nakahara's now still chest.

The gun tumbled from Akihito's trembling hands and clinked against the tiles of the now silent platform. Akihito followed quickly thereafter, his knees buckling, his legs flushed numb. A sinking coldness swirled in his stomach as horrid realization settled thick and heavy in his gut. He'd killed Nakahara, his bodyguard and friend of almost a year, and hot bile purged his shocked system in violent wretches. Wet heaves dried to seeking gasps, but he remained hunched over, stinging tears staining tracks down his cheeks.

Footslaps hurried down the stairs, muffled by the thick thumping of his own heart. Petrified gasps and curdling shrieks sliced his temporary haze, and though he straightened, his eyes refused to look away from the crimson upon the once-immaculate tuxedo shirt.

His mind was blank, dazed beyond reason, and he barely registered the familiar being settling next to him. Drawn against a strong chest, enticed by smoke and alcohol and musk, Akihito leaned into the firm but hesitant hand that lifted his chin, and despite the sickening bile taste in his mouth, forceful lips took his, following a knowing pattern of discovery and affection until Akihito woke from his dark depression. His bonded arms rose over Asami's neck and tightened, and he pushed his body flat against his husband's, lips twisted to get deeper, to taste more of the man he loved and needed.

He knew he should possibly pray for forgiveness from a higher being, perhaps apologize to Asami for killing one of his subordinates, but he devoured the lips that promised eternity. Nakahara wanted nothing more than to pull him away from this, to make him a bargain chip _again_ in a war between powerful men who profited from the sins of life.

He opened his eyes to those tender golden ones that offered unspoken apologies and questioning fear, and Akihito whispered against Asami's lips. "For better or worse."

"For better or worse," Asami replied equally as low but just as forceful.

Asami freed his neck, then threw Akihito over his shoulder as another subway roared into the station. Asami's men kept a perimeter, Akihito saw then, separating them from the rest of the straphangers, and Kirishima and Suoh quickly cleared a whole car. Asami placed him the corner two-seater, and Akihito lifted his bound hands, tugging at the plastic restraints. Of course, Asami ignored him completely, the asshole. This was probably one major turn-on for him, but then again, as Asami ran a sensual hand over his exposed chest, his lips finding the indention of Akihito's neck, Akihito couldn't deny that he enjoyed it himself.

They worked together, slowly and savoring, as they enjoyed the mingling of their bodies. Thick fingers found his ass and worked it open with meticulous precision. Wet and aroused, Akihito returned the favor by thoroughly devouring Asami's cock, his lips clamping about the hot staff, his still restrained hands working in new ways on Asami's balls.

Though it was awkward to have Kirishima and Souh less than ten feet away, their backs turned toward him and Asami, and a goon at every doorway, Akihito wanted to feel Asami inside of him, proof that they'd survived yet another bout with the universe that somehow tossed them together and had tried to tear them apart since. The uncontrollable desire manifested in throaty moans and quick grunts that expelled from his clenched lips. With one leg of his slacks free, his body pressing against the door leading to another car, he pushed back as eagerly as Asami thrust into his ass.

The soreness of his arm finally broke through the erotic haze but fled again when Asami's hand snaked around his waist, skimming the soft skin, gliding down his hardened and aching cock that demanded attention.

Akihito whispered, "Cut the ties."

"Why?"

"It's our first time after being married. I want to touch the flesh I own."

A butterfly knife cut the cords with deliberate care, and Asami slipped from Akihito's body. Forging the coldness, Akihito turned and found himself thrust back against the door, his legs upon Asami's strong thighs, his thick cock once more buried in Akihito's pucker. His grunts came louder now, his back hammered in a usual rhythm, pain and pleasure colliding. Soft, plushy flesh accepted his fingers, accepted the bruises sure to follow, and he came with a startled cry upon his lips. Asami's own liquid dribbled between his thighs, and his husband pressed his cheek against Akihito's chest, his lips flat against his still healing collarbone.

"From this day forward." Asami knotted theirs hands.

Akihito smiled and pecked Asami's pleading lips. " 'Til death do us part."

To Be Continued…


End file.
